Biker Scum
by Ingram
Summary: The story of the Manhattan Clan and their encounters with the Vikingz outlaw biker gang and it's gargoyle leader, Angel. Collection of all the chapter I have done so far into one series.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I want to make a few things very clear: A. I don't own gargoyles, and use the name and characters without permission.

B. I also use the Name "Hells Angels" without permission.

"Car 117, we have a bar fight at The Hogs Head tavern, please respond"

"Dispatch, Car 117, what's the address again?"

"That the Hogs Head Tavern, thirty-eight West Pine Street."

"Roger dispatch Car 117 responding."

Officer Jake Vincenzo flipped on his cruisers lights and siren, pulled a u-turn at an intersection and sped towards West Pine

Street. When he finally got to the beat up old bar, a double column of chopped Harley Davidson's was roaring down the street

at top speed, but they quickly turned right down a side street, Vincenzo grabbed the radio mike in his squad car and called

his dispatcher.

"Dispatch, this is Car 117, am at Hogs Head Tavern"

"Copy Car 117"

Pulling on his jacket, Vincenzo walked into the bar. To call it train wreck would be an understatement. Broken chairs and tables littered the floor, the massive mirror behind the bar had been shot to pieces, a quartet of deep cuts dragged down the bar like claw marks and the ceiling and walls were dotted by a dozen gaping holes, all ringed with fire. Drawing his pistol,

Vincenzo called out; "If anyone's in here I want them to come out with their hands up! Now!"

A scared-looking blond in a tank top peeked over the shattered remnants of the bar.

"Did you get her?"

"Get who?"

"The red haired gargoyle, did you get her?"

Vincenzo stared, holstered his firearm, looked at the shattered remains of the bar, and called for backup.

Earlier that night

They came like a mob of Mongols roaring off the steppe to pillage anything they saw, bikes screaming down the city streets, the roar of their exhaust pipes echoing down the canyons of steal and brick like cannon fire. The riders of these roaring machines would certainly have fit in with Genghis' horde, clad in black leather and flying three-piece patches, they made for an unwelcome diversion in the nighttime bustle of Manhattan. And they also gained the attention of someone whose attention it is better not to get.

Demona had been gliding, something she for which she had not had much time lately, what with the difficulties of running a major corporation AND trying to slaughter the human race. The immortal gargoyle noted the arrival of this throng of bikers with only mild curiosity, she was mainly concerned with avoiding the roving patrols Goliath's..._her_ clan incessantly mounted

in a feeble attempt to protect the people of the city from themselves. Pausing briefly on a rooftop, she looked down as the line of choppers pulled into a gas station. Idly she watched as the biker lined up for gas. _Cursed humans_, she thought, _always so desperate to poison the planet with the fumes from_...Demona gaped, her gaze transfixed on the front left rider of the pack.

As he had dismounted his bike, she had seen something she had absolutely not expected; the rider had a tail. As he idly sauntered up to the pump, she saw the wings caped around his shoulders, barely covered by the long duster coat he wore.

The left lead rider walked up to the mystery gargoyle, who was stretching out his arms behind his head.

"Hey Chief! how much farther we got to ride man?"

The gargoyle cracked his neck and ran a hand through his shoulder length black hair before answering.

"The Angels' club house is over in Queens, so I'd say about...two hours maybe."

"Shit, that a while, you maybe want to stop for a drink?"

"You know anyplace around here we can go?"

"Hell yeah! Hogs Head Tavern, best beer on this whole fucking island!"

"Alright, sounds cool. Soon as everybody's filled up, we'll head over there."

The left lead rider let out a shout of approval, and yelled out the good news to rest of the club. In the meantime, the gargoyle's bike had had its fill of gas, and he walked in to the gas station to pay the attendant. Demona patiently waited for the clerk to dash out, screaming in fear, but nothing happened. Through the window she saw the Gargoyle pick up a burrito, microwave it, fill a soda, pay for everything, and walk back out. Demona suddenly laughed, realizing what had happened.

It was simple really; the clerk was to scared of the motorcycle gang to notice a Gargoyle. It helped that the Gargoyle was about human size, and dressed and looked the same as the crowd of bikers he rode with, but the sheer terror of that many big, scary-looking people would blind almost any human to someone's true nature.

_Brilliant, or very, very stupid. Either way,I should speak to this Gargoyle, maybe he'll join my cause. At the very least I can get him away from those humans._

The Gargoyle bolted down his burrito, chugged his soda, and moved his bike out of the bay and into a parking space.

He watched the pack fuel up for awhile, before waving to his second in command and motioning to near by alley.

The second waved, nodded, and turned his attention to the line of bikes still waiting for gas.

Demona ducked back from the rooftop, and crept silently across before sliding onto a fire escape that overlooked the alley

The biker Gargoyle had motioned to. She arrived just in time to see him face a wall, unzip his pants, and let fly.

Blushing a deeper shade of cyan, Demona quickly looked away. She waited until she heard the sound of a zipper to turn around. When she did she found that the mystery gargoyles was staring straight at her!

"Hey! You coming down from there or what?" he yelled, one hand reaching under his coat.

Demona unfurled her wings, and glided down from the fire escape to the alley in front of the other Gargoyle. The leather-clad Gargoyle openly stared, reaching up, he pulled off his dark sunglasses and scrutinized Demona with icy blue eyes, walking a full circle around her before stopping back in front.

"You're like me." he finally said, with deep, almost menacing voice. Somehow, he didn't seem at all surprised to see another Gargoyle in New York City.

"Yes, obviously I am. But what about you?"

"What about me?"

"What clan are you from? Or are you here to join Goliaths Clan?"

"Who the fuck is Goliath? And what do you mean clan?

"You don't know what a clan is!" Demona was incredulous. The clan was the basis of Gargoyle society, how could he not know what it was? "Were you raised as a Gargoyle? Or with the..._humans_?"

"Oh, _that'_s what you were talking about!" He laughed, "Fuck no I wasn't raised by 'Gargoyles', I skipped the hell out of the backwater hellhole I grew up in as soon almost a soon as I could glide. But I wasn't raised by humans neither."

"You abandoned your clan?"

"No, I ran away from that bunch of psychos as soon as I could."

"And you've been living with the humans since you were a child?"

"Uhm, Yeah." The biker was confused, not sure where this conversation was going, but not liking it all the same.

"Do you know nothing of the suffering they have caused us! The death they brought to so many others of your kind!"

"Oookay...its been my experience to avoid people who use 'they' in long hateful statements, so, goodnight lady."

The gargoyle turned and walked away, and for the firs time, Demona got an up close look at the insignia on the back of the leather vest he wore on the outside of his duster. The bottom rocker was green with blue lettering, it read "Nomads", in between the two rockers was a Viking helmet with crossed axes, and the top rocker was also green and blue lettering.

In bold, gothic letters, it read, "Vikingz MC". Demona took one look at this three-piece patch, than flew into a blind rage and reached out to tear the vest off. Big mistake. The biker whirled, and sent a well-timed sucker punch at Demona's face.

She deftly snatched his fist and flipped him over onto his back, landing hard on the alley floor. She brought her talons down in an attempt to rip out his throat, but he rolled out of the way and out onto the sidewalk just in time. Jumping to his feet, blocked another slash aimed at his throat and put Demona into an arm lock, before tossing her to the ground and kicking her in the back a few times. Apparently satisfied with the damage he had dealt, he turned and began to walk away. But before he got very far, Demona was behind him, and she raked razor sharp talons down his back before sinking her teeth into his shoulder,

falling to the ground screaming he clutched at the gaping wounds in his back and shoulder. Demona let out a Banshee wail of triumph, her eyes glowing red. Her triumph was cut short as a steel chain connected solidly with her head. Recovering, she turned to find that the pack of bikers had come up behind her, and she was now decidedly outnumbered.

"Which one of you pathetic humans is first?"

The bikers looked at each other, laughed, and all charged in at once.

Later, back at the Hogs Head Tavern

Matt Bluestone was having a bad night. Not only was he on permanent night shift because of his assignment to the Gargoyle Task Force, but every time he filed a report he was lying through his ass off about almost everything, trying to make very incident involving Gargoyles out to be completely ridiculous. Tonight was going to be very hard. It had taken the better part of an hour and a half to get the nearly-hysterical bar tender calmed down enough to give coherent statement. Now Matt was finding out he didn't like what he was hearing.

"Well... there were these guys in here…I think they were some kind of biker gang..."

She swallowed, than continued

"Anyway these guys were hanging out and…this…_Gargoyle_ broke through the door…she was tall, and her skin was blue…and her eyes…oh my god…it was like looking into hell!"

Bluestone put a hand on her shoulder,

"We can talk later…", but the bartender interrupted, continuing her story.

"She started yelling, I think she had run into them before and something happened… she started shooting and the bikers shot back… then I hid under the bar."

"Alright, thank you for your time miss if you'll just go with officer Vazquez we'll get you taken care of…"

"But I saw the bikers when they were running out the back….and…" she hesitated

"Yes?"

"One of the bikers, he was a Gargoyle too."

Bluestone blinked hard, thanked her again, and went outside to make a phone call.

The Eerie Building

Puck had long ago decided that Owen Burnett was possibly the most overworked personal assistant on the face of the planet. He facilitated the smooth running of worlds largest corporation, acted as the down to earth voice to a recovering megalomaniac, and served as the de facto communication officer/medic/intelligence specialist to a clan of tenth century Gargoyles.

All in all, Puck decided that Owen at _least_ deserved a raise. A delighted squeal from Alexander distracted him from his reverie, and was pleased to find the toddler had managed to turn Owens cell phone into a small teddy bear, which Alexander was clutching lovingly to his chest.

Suddenly the teddy bear started to ring, and Alexander dropped it, startled enough to start crying as the small toy continued to ring, Puck picked up the squalling child and began to rock him back and forth. Holding the child in one arm, Puck picked the phone, flipped it open and answered in Owens boring monotone;

"This had better be very important Mister Bluestone."

"I need to speak to Goliath."

"Ah. If you'll hold on one moment."

Puck pressed the phones receiver against his shoulder and spoke to the now silent Alexander.

"Alex…why don't you take us to the library?"

Alex smiled, clapped his hands and the pair disappeared in a flash of green light, only to reappear in front of a startled Goliath.

"Phone for you." Puck announced cheerfully before handing Goliath the cell phone and once again disappearing into the thin air.

Blinking hard, Goliath spoke into the phone.

"Yes?"

"Were any of your clan on patrol near the Brooklyn Bridge tonight?"

"No…We all remained at the Castle tonight because of the Quarrymen rally."

"This is not good…"

"What happened?"

"Demona shot up a bar tonight…and apparently she was going after a Gargoyle."

"In a bar?"

"Yeah. That's the weird part, but what's got me hung up is that there was a motorcycle gang in the bar at the time."

"A motorcycle gang?"

"The Vikingz Motorcycle Club, I'm running the name through the database right now."

"The Vikingz?" Goliath turned the name into a growl.

There was silence at the other end of the phone, and a muffled conversation.

"I have to go Goliath, but I'll talk to you later tonight."

When the phone went dead, Goliath tossed it aside and went to gather the Clan.

As dawn approached, the Clan had gathered together in the castle courtyard, and now awaited Bluestones arrival. When he did show up, it was with an inch and half folder tucked under his arm. Brooklyn hopped down form the wall he had been perched on and landed next to Bluestone.

"What did you find out about this new Gargoyle?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"But I found out quite a bit about the crowd he was hanging out with though."

Bluestone set the folder down on rocky outcropping that jutted out of the court yard like a plateau and spread it contents across the rock.

"According to the bartender, the Bikers inside the tavern were all wearing the same three piece patch…from the Vikingz Motorcycle Club."

The word "Vikingz" was greeted by chorus of low growls from everyone but Angela and Elisa.

Elisa was the first one to break the ensuing silence.

"I've never heard of that one before."

"Well they apparently keep a low profile…" Bluestone rifled through the folders contents,

before picking up a document with an FBI seal across the top.

"Lets see, no known home base, known affiliates of the _Hells Angels_, occasionally spotted on Angels sponsored events and bike runs…suspected of arms dealing, narcotics dealing, extortion, and multiple murders. Nothing could be proven until last week when a known methamphetamine dealer was found shot to death, along with his wife and two younger sisters. Several eyewitnesses report seeing three men on motorcycles fleeing the scene, and all three were flying Vikingz colors. The club has been on the run since the day afterward."

There was a long silence after Bluestone was done speaking.

"But why would a Gargoyle be associating with people like this?" Angela asked incredulously.

Bluestone looked at the ground before slowly answering.

"Well…the bartender had something else to say…apparently the Gargoyle was not only a full member of the biker gang… but he was the _leader_."

Hells Angels Clubhouse, Brooklyn

Instead of roaring in triumphantly on their choppers The Vikingz found themselves staggering like the defeated remains of a broken army. Most were covered in bruises, and cuts, others cradled broken arms in their laps, steering their bikes one handed. Four members were so badly injured they had to ride in the cab of a stolen pick up, with their bikes piled in the bed.

As the pack drew closer to the mob of Hells Angels waiting in the street, a few straightened up in their seats, but most just stared ahead, unseeing. As the battered bikers slid to a stop, the Chapter President of the Hells Angels ran up to the lead rider.

"Jesus H Christ Angel! What the fuck happened to you guys?"

"Angel" got off his chopper and tore off the remains of his duster before answering;

"Brother, you have no fucking idea! We had a run in with one of those Gargoyles things…"

"Their real?"

"Motherfucker, I'm real aren't I? Any way this crazy chick pops outta the shadows at a fuel stop over in Manhattan, starts freaking out, And we knock her around a bit, okay?"

"Yeah…"

"So Scag over there had talked me into stopping at this little dive he knows about for a drink, so we go there for awhile, but than that chick shows up with _this _thing!" Angel produced a laser rifle from the bed of the pickup, "And starts spraying with it. She manages to tag Miller with it before Gothic and Basky jumped her, but after that, shit just went downhill, finally someone manages to stick blade in her and I toss her out a side window, and we run outside to get on our scooters and bug the hell out, but…she was gone man!"

"Whaddya mean gone?"

"I mean gone! She'd lit out!"

"Wow…."

"Yeah. I was you guys I'd avoid tangling with the local winged bunch man…those're some bad mothers."

Watching a truck load of Vikingz head to the nearest hospital, The Angels President remembered something, and turned to the Gargoyle standing next to him.

"Hey man, how long do you guys plan on staying?"

"Not long, why?"

"Well not to sound like an asshole, but you guys got more heat on you than I care to be around long?"

"What heat? We haven't pulled anything in weeks."

"Bull shit! It was on the news, 'Vikingz motorcycle gang sought for multiple murders!'."

"But we didn't pull nothing like that! Hell we been on the road for like ten days!"

The President evaluated Angel, before he nodded.

"I believe you man, but who would make up some shit like that?"

"Don't know. But I'm gonna find out." Angel growled as he walked away, pulling on his colors.


	2. Chapter 2

The names "Hells Angels", and "Hells Angels Motorcycle Club" are the property of the

Hells Angels Motorcycle Corporation, and are used without permission.

"Motherfucker!" Angel shouted, before he hit the tile floor with a loud thud.

"How much painkiller did you assholes pump into me?" The tan colored gargoyle demanded as he waited for the room to stop spinning. Broadway helped the swaying biker to his feet.

"As I was trying to inform you earlier sir," Owen droned "You were in a somewhat advanced state of shock when you came in, and the drugs I gave you need time to work their way out of your system…"

"And as I informed your pasty blond ass earlier, I once rode from Frisco to Berdoo on twelve tabs of Acid." Angel collapsed back into the hospital bed after picking his cigarettes off the floor, "A little pain killer isn't shit to me."

Owen sighed before continuing;

"Sir, whatever drugs you took in the past have been formatted for humans, while the painkillers I've given you have been specially designed for use on Gargoyles."

Angel sent Owen a glare that would have melted steel.

"So tell me, 'Doc'", Angel loaded the last word with as much irony as he could muster "When does all this crap start to wear off?"

"The effects should be eliminated after you complete your next stone sleep cycle."

Angel looked confused, opened his mouth to speak, but changed his mind and remained silent.

"So until tomorrow night, good bye." With that Owen left the room, leaving Broadway to watch the outlaw motorcycle rider by himself. Angel spent a minute sizing up the portly gargoyle before he finally spoke.

"You mind handing me my lighter?"

Broadway furrowed his brow ridges, "You're not supposed to smoke in here."

"Yeah well rules are made to be broken, and since that prick has me on so much shit that I can't even walk, maybe you could help me out…"

Broadway shook his head.

"Well fuck you to buddy."

"Elisa is this really necessary?" Goliath asked his love.

"No reason to have this guy wandering around the castle fully armed Goliath"

"What makes you think he's…" Goliath stopped talking as Elisa pulled Angels brass knuckles from the pocket of the black leather duster. Elisa held the weapon in the palm of her hand and showed it to Goliath.

"Look at this, three finger holes instead of four. He's had this thing specially made."

Elisa set the knuckles aside and picked up the leather vest that angel wore his club patches on. Turning it inside out, she found a length of motorcycle drive chain had been secured to the hem by a set of metal hooks. After placing the heavy steel chain next to the brass knuckles, Elisa found a nylon shoulder harness with an anodized steel trench knife sheathed hilt downwards on the right side.

"I wonder if he always goes out this heavily armed?"

Goliath shook his head, puzzled by the whole situation.

Goliaths radio crackled, and Broadways panicked voice echoed through the room.

"He's gone!"

"What?"

"He punched me in the head and disappeared!"

"Hold on Broadway, we'll be right there." Elisa and Goliath ran towards the

elevator, Goliath hurriedly calling the rest of the clan to the search.

When they got to the infirmary, they found Broadway nursing a black eye and

searching in vain for the runaway outlaw. Pointing Broadway to the door, Elisa and

Goliath began to cautiously search the small hospital ward for the missing Viking.

"Goliath!" Elisa called from a room she had just entered. Running from the hallway he had been checking, Goliath found Elisa leaning over in front of the smashed remains of a drug supply locker. She held up an empty syringe.

"Look's like he injected himself with an adrenaline booster." Elisa found another

syringe, "Or two. Whatever effect those drugs that Owen shot him up with had, they

won't have one anymore."

Goliath was about to call the clan and warn them when Owens voice came over the

radio.

"I've already located our missing patient Goliath. He's on the top parapet."

"What's he doing? Is he getting ready to glide!?" Goliath began to have visions of

an all night chase through the sky as Angel made good his escape.

"No."

"Well, what IS he doing?"

"Smoking."

They found Angel leaning against the side of a crenellation, staring at the expanse of New York as it sprawled below him. As the clan approached, he sent them a baleful glance before returning to the view.

"Unless one of you brought my pants, that's far enough."

Angel took another drag before tossing the glowing cigarette butt over the side of the wall. Scooping up his cigarettes and Zippo lighter from an arrow loop he turned and began to walk back towards the castle keep.

"Well, back to the dungeon I go."

As the somewhat dumbfounded clan followed Angel back into the castles interior,

Xanatos turned to Owen,

"Check the phone records Owen; I want to know if our new guest contacted any of his

associates."

"Of course Mr. Xanatos."

Goliath hurried to catch up to Angel who seemed to be striding everywhere as fast as possible.

"I do not appreciate you knocking a member of my clan unconscious." He growled

Angel took a few more steps before he jerked his head up, as if he was shocked to find Goliath suddenly standing next to him.

"Huh? Oh yeah right, right well you know I just really needed a smoke and tubby just wouldn't budge so…whack!" Angel crashed his fist into his palm, and let out a perverse giggle. Goliath blinked and looked at Angel again. The smaller Gargoyle seemed to be bursting at the seams with a boundless energy, and his every movement was jerky and accelerated.

"Are you…well?" Goliath asked. Angel adjusted the hospital robe he was wearing and looked slightly embarrassed.

"When I broke into that fucking medicine cabinet and injected all that adrenaline I still wasn't one hundred percent…besides, like blondie said, that shit was made for like humans, not guys like you and me! So I dug up a bottle of some kind of speedand scarfed about half of it!" after a few more steps Angel suddenly burst out in a savage yell and took off running down the hall, before bounding off a wall and

running down the corridor back towards the infirmary. Goliath stared, and Elisa ran up beside him, weapon drawn.

"Goliath what the hell did you say to him?"

"Nothing. But he said he had taken some kind of pills from the infirmary…speed?"

"SPEED?" Elisa turned and shouted at Xanatos "What the hell are you doing with

speed?"

"What?" Before Xanatos could say anything else, Owen stepped in.

"I believe what the detective is referring to is the infirmary's supply of Dexamphetamine, which our new acquaintance has clearly ingested."

A loud crash followed by a barrage of curses echoed from the hall way Angel had ran down.

Elisa rolled her eyes and looked at Goliath.

"Did he say how much he took?"

"I believe he said some thing about half a bottle."

Elisa groaned. Dealing with a Gargoyle wired to the wing tips on uppers was not very high on her list of priorities.

"We might as well give him his pants back, because he isn't going back to that hospital bed any time soon."

After finally convincing Angel to follow them to the room where they had been keeping his clothes, they locked him inside while he got dressed and Elisa tried to figure out what to do with him.

"We'll have to lock him up some where…"

"Why is that Elisa?" Goliath asked. Elisa sent a sharp look at Goliath; his tone made it clear he didn't approve the idea.

"Because...I mean you saw him! He's so high right now who knows what he could do!"

As if to underscore her words, the muffled sound of Angel singing "Sympathy for the Devil" at the top of his lungs drifted into the hall.

"But that's not the only reason is it?"

Elisa nodded, flustered at Goliaths' ability to read her.

"Goliath, I don't think he knocked Broadway out and took half a bottle of speed just to go outside to smoke a cigarette. And if he did, there's something very wrong with him."

Goliath nodded,

"You have a point. As much as I hate to lock him away, for now it's probably the best idea. We should put someone on this door, too make sure he doesn't escape."

Elisa nodded and smiled.

Angel, meanwhile, had been leaning against the door listening to the conversation, all the while singing to keep from arousing suspicion.

"Pricks." he muttered before stumbling over to a phone by the bedside, he lifted it off the hook, put it to his ear, and heard nothing. Owen had had the foresight to cut the signal to the phone already.

"Shiiit!" Angel hissed before setting the phone back down.

He had knocked out the fat guy in his hospital room and escaped with the intention of going outside and taking a quick cigarette. To his drug befuddled mind that had seemed like a good idea, and by the time he realized that he could at least phone his guys to let them know where he was, it had been too late.

Oh well, he thought, there's always the next time.

Angel reached down to the table his clothes had been deposited on and began to get dressed, which between the speed and the fact that he still had one arm in a sling, proved to be quite a way to pass the time.

Across town in dingy bar in a run down industrial district, a dozen members of Angels' Motorcycle club, the Vikingz, huddled around pair of tables, listening to Tramp tell his story.

"So we were in this pool hall okay? And than some of those Quarrymen psychos bust in and call out me an the Chief right, so we pound the crap out of 'em and get the hell out, but about seven blocks away a fucking attack helicopter pos up outta no where…"

"An Attack helicopter?" A Leviathan Viking with arms as thick as tree trunks demanded. "They let those fucking paranoid brown shirt wannabes fly attack helicopters and I can't even buy a gun because of some shitty assault charge? Bullshit!"

Scagg, the Vikingz club vice president smacked the leviathan biker in the head with a beer mug.

"Shut up Smalls." Scagg nodded at Tramp to continue.

"So anyway, we was riding full tilt away from this fuck wad, and all the while he was spraying bullets at us like rain. Must have hit like thirty civilians trying to get at us. But the Chief and mr, we split up, and god knows what happened to him after that."

As Tramp finished a pair of solemn faced Hells Angels walked into the dingy bar, and made bee line for the Vikingz.

"We got some shit news guys." One said

"We just heard the cops found a panhead chopper wrapped around an office building downtown with a crashed Quarrymen whirly bird on the pavement nearby." The other

explained.

A dead silence as broke out as the Vikingz digested the news.

"Any bodies?" Scagg asked, his hands gripping the table so tight the knuckeles were bone white.

One of the Hells Angels shook his head.

The Vikingz seemed to all exhale at once, Tramp took his head in his hands and laughed.

"What the fuck is so goddamned funny?" Smalls, the giant biker demanded.

"Man, do you have any idea how pissed the boss is gonna be at those masked motherfuckers for trashing his bike?"

The Vikingz broke into raucous laughter as they imagined and plotted the hellish revenge they would reap on the "Concerned Citizens" group that had the audacity to attack their leader, destroy his bike and shoot up another of their comrades.

Scagg broke apart the round table discussion of premeditated murder by slamming his fists on the table top with a resounding crash.

"Listen up boys! Just because the Chief ain't dead, that don't mean he isn't in deepshit!Tramp, take Billy and Det, start checking out down town, see if you can find the boss. Animal," Scagg pointed to Viking with a look wild enough to do justice to hisnamesake,

"Go over to the Angels' clubhouse and break out our stash."

"Sure thing Scagg." Animal nodded and headed to the door, with Scaggs' search detail right behind him. Turning to the two Hells Angels, Scagg asked, "What did Tony say about us getting some pay back? Is it okay for us to take on these Quarrymen Pricks?"

One of the Angels nodded.

"He said it was cool for you to do what you have too, but once it's done, you guys got to go, we don't need all the heat from hiding you."

"Fine. Fair enough." Scagg turned to the remaining Vikingz, "The rest of you spread out, find the others, and send them back to the club house to arm up."

The Vikingz went outside, jumped on their bikes, kicked the starters and rode off in all directions to collect their brethren.

Dawn was approaching, and the Manhattan Clans patrols were making haste on their return trip home form patrol. As they neared the Eerie, Brooklyn and Lexington spotted a trio of biker riders at a stop light.

"Hey! Check it out!" Lexington shouted, as he pointed at the trio of bikers,

Brooklyn started to dive down to the roof tops.

"Hey, what are you doing?' Lex demanded as he followed his impetuous sibling down towards a nearby building.

"Those guys might be in the same gang as the guy we have locked up in the castle."

"So?"

"So their probably out looking for him!"

Brooklyn watched as the trio rumbled by his perch on the roof, his keen eyes picking out the design of the three piece patch he was wearing on his back.

"Vikingz, same as the Gargoyle Xanatos picked up."

"There's not much we can do about it right now Brook." Lexington motioned to the

growing light as the sun crept upwards.

"Yeah, I guess not." reluctantly, he followed Lex he leapt form the castle and into

the air currents.

On the ground, Tramp had just happened to be glancing upwards when he saw the two Gargoyles taking flight.

"YO! Check it out!" he said, pointing at the two shadows that flitted across the sky.

"Hey Tramp, that sure as hell ain't the chief!" The Viking named Billy said.

"No shit! After 'em." The three Vikings took off after the airborne gargoyles, taking advantage of the wonderfully straight street grid of Manhattan to aid them in their pursuit.

They stopped two blocks short of the Eerie building, and watched as Lex and Brook disappeared into the cloud cover around the buildings pinnacle.

"They gotta live in there somewhere man, I mean, nothing else is up that high!" Det pointed out.

The trio of Vikingz sat on their bikes and stared at the tallest building in the world, each wondering if their leader was locked away inside.

"If he's up there, we're gonna need a lot more guys to get him out."

"Come on Elisa, you can't tell me you're not the least bit curious."

Elisa let out a yawn before answering.

"Fox all I want right now sleep. I can't see what the big deal is anyway."

The red haired woman laughed,

"Its not everday I get to see a stone Gargoyle dressed as an outlaw motorcyclist,

and just the thought seems pretty funny to me."

Elisa let out a short bark of laughter.

"You could have just asked Brookyln."

"Brooklyn wouldn't work, he couldn't grow a beard. Now Goliath I could see, but not Brook."

"Hey!"

"Can't you just see it Elisa? Goliath in full Hells Angels regalia, roaring up on his chopper to carry you into the night and ravish you mercilessly?"

Elisa began laughing hysterically, the image too ridiculous to bear contemplation.

She was still laughing when Fox unlocked the door and opened it to reveal Angel leaning back in office chair facing the window, basking in the early morning sunlight.

Elisa abruptly stopped laughing.

"S'bout time someone let me outta this cage." he said as he slid out of the leather chair and draped his Vikingz colors across his shoulders. Seeing the dumfounded looks Fox and Elisa where sending him, turned around, expecting to see some horrible enemy ready to rip him in half. Finding none, he turned. "What?"

A dozen blocks Away, Tramp was excitedly talking on a pay phone to Scagg.

"Yeah, no doubt about it, Chiefs in that bigass tower, it's only like four blocks away from where he crashed his bike! No if those Quarryfucks had nabbed him they'd be dragging him around the street from a fucking truck. Alright, cool!"

Tramp turned to Billy and Det, "Mount up boys! Its on!"

Revving their engines, the trio took off back towards Brooklyn, where the whole Vikingz Club was gathering. After the pulling into the abandoned warehouse that the Vikingz had taken over for a temporary staging area, the trio fell into line of outlaws that stood waiting to

be given a weapon from the arms cache the club had lugged with in the bed of a pick up. Smalls was doling out the arsenal of submachine guns, shotguns, assault rifle and pistols while Scagg was handing out Magazines and ammo.

Just as the weapons issue was drawing to a close, Scaggs' cell phone began to ring.

"Yeah..."

Back at the Eerie Building, Angel had managed to find a working phone after slipping past an apparently frozen Fox and Elisa. While the now frantic pair excitedly chatted down the hall, Angel had called his second in command.

"Guess who bitch! Right the first time Bro! Your not gonna believe where I am man! You know that big building with a fuckin' castle on the top....no shit? He did?

Tramp is still one smart motherfucker....so what are you guys doing? Whoaa man, hold the rescue effort, just send someone down here too pick me up!" Angel glanced at Elisa and Fox, who had given up their conversation and were now headed his way. "No way in hell can they

stop me. But what about my bike…THOSE MOTHERFUCKERS!" Angels shout seemed to echo through the castle and froze Elisa and Fox in their tracks, "Fucking pricks! Nazi fuckos! Fucking get ready, I'm on my way! We're going after the bastards!" Storming back towards the room he had spent the night in, Angel grabbed his weapons and stormed back down the corridor.

"Where's the elevator?" He demanded of Fox.

"What's…"

"Look lady, I'm in a real shitty mood right now, so where's the damn elevator?!"

Correctly guessing that the situation could only go down hill, Fox led Angel towards the main elevator.

When they got their Angel hit the call button, and when the elevator doors opened, he shoved Fox and Elisa inside.

"Just making sure there are no problems." He muttered, before moving to the rear of the elevator and keeping his back to the wall.

"This place got a garage?" he asked.

"Yes…"

"That's where I'm going."

As the elevator droned downwards, Angel slowly regained control of himself. When the elevator finally slid to a stop, Angel poked his head, checked the area, and motined for Elisa and Fox to get out.

"You guys keep the keys down here?" Angel asked as he surveyed the long lines of luxury cars stretching before him. Fox and Elisa were silent.

"Fine, I'll just hot wiring something than." storming towards the nearest line of cars, Angel began searching for a car he could lift easily. Towards the back of the garage, angel spotted a line of motorcycles.

"Yes..."

hopping on a brand new Honda ST-1100, Angel deftly tore open the plastic cover on the engine, hot wired the ignition, slammed down on the starter pedal, and prepared to take off.

In the meantime Elisa had dashed towards the garage door control while fox desperately tried to contact David.

Angel slammed the bike into gear and sped down the rows of cars towards the garage exit. Using a door opener he had snatched from a Bentley he had checked out, he opened the massive steel door and was almost there when Elisa began to close it. When it became obvious he wouldn't make it standing up, Angel laid the bike down until it was nearly

Parallel to the ground and slid under the closing gate. Once outside he barely righted the bike before it slid into oncoming traffic. Once he had the bike righted, Angel sped down the street, engine going full bore.


	3. Chapter 3

The names "Hells Angels", and "Hells Angels Motorcycle Club" are the property of the

Hells Angels Motorcycle Corporation, and are used without permission.

"Motherfucker!" Angel shouted, before he hit the tile floor with a loud thud.

"How much painkiller did you assholes pump into me?" The tan colored gargoyle demanded as he waited for the room to stop spinning. Broadway helped the swaying biker to his feet.

"As I was trying to inform you earlier sir," Owen droned "You were in a somewhat advanced state of shock when you came in, and the drugs I gave you need time to work their way out of your system…"

"And as I informed your pasty blond ass earlier, I once rode from Frisco to Berdoo on twelve tabs of Acid." Angel collapsed back into the hospital bed after picking his cigarettes off the floor, "A little pain killer isn't shit to me."

Owen sighed before continuing;

"Sir, whatever drugs you took in the past have been formatted for humans, while the painkillers I've given you have been specially designed for use on Gargoyles."

Angel sent Owen a glare that would have melted steel.

"So tell me, 'Doc'", Angel loaded the last word with as much irony as he could muster "When does all this crap start to wear off?"

"The effects should be eliminated after you complete your next stone sleep cycle."

Angel looked confused, opened his mouth to speak, but changed his mind and remained silent.

"So until tomorrow night, good bye." With that Owen left the room, leaving Broadway to watch the outlaw motorcycle rider by himself. Angel spent a minute sizing up the portly gargoyle before he finally spoke.

"You mind handing me my lighter?"

Broadway furrowed his brow ridges, "You're not supposed to smoke in here."

"Yeah well rules are made to be broken, and since that prick has me on so much shit that I can't even walk, maybe you could help me out…"

Broadway shook his head.

"Well fuck you to buddy."

"Elisa is this really necessary?" Goliath asked his love.

"No reason to have this guy wandering around the castle fully armed Goliath"

"What makes you think he's…" Goliath stopped talking as Elisa pulled Angels brass knuckles from the pocket of the black leather duster. Elisa held the weapon in the palm of her hand and showed it to Goliath.

"Look at this, three finger holes instead of four. He's had this thing specially made."

Elisa set the knuckles aside and picked up the leather vest that angel wore his club patches on. Turning it inside out, she found a length of motorcycle drive chain had been secured to the hem by a set of metal hooks. After placing the heavy steel chain next to the brass knuckles, Elisa found a nylon shoulder harness with an anodized steel trench knife sheathed hilt downwards on the right side.

"I wonder if he always goes out this heavily armed?"

Goliath shook his head, puzzled by the whole situation.

Goliaths radio crackled, and Broadways panicked voice echoed through the room.

"He's gone!"

"What?"

"He punched me in the head and disappeared!"

"Hold on Broadway, we'll be right there." Elisa and Goliath ran towards the

elevator, Goliath hurriedly calling the rest of the clan to the search.

When they got to the infirmary, they found Broadway nursing a black eye and

searching in vain for the runaway outlaw. Pointing Broadway to the door, Elisa and

Goliath began to cautiously search the small hospital ward for the missing Viking.

"Goliath!" Elisa called from a room she had just entered. Running from the hallway he had been checking, Goliath found Elisa leaning over in front of the smashed remains of a drug supply locker. She held up an empty syringe.

"Look's like he injected himself with an adrenaline booster." Elisa found another

syringe, "Or two. Whatever effect those drugs that Owen shot him up with had, they

won't have one anymore."

Goliath was about to call the clan and warn them when Owens voice came over the

radio.

"I've already located our missing patient Goliath. He's on the top parapet."

"What's he doing? Is he getting ready to glide!?" Goliath began to have visions of

an all night chase through the sky as Angel made good his escape.

"No."

"Well, what IS he doing?"

"Smoking."

They found Angel leaning against the side of a crenellation, staring at the expanse of New York as it sprawled below him. As the clan approached, he sent them a baleful glance before returning to the view.

"Unless one of you brought my pants, that's far enough."

Angel took another drag before tossing the glowing cigarette butt over the side of the wall. Scooping up his cigarettes and Zippo lighter from an arrow loop he turned and began to walk back towards the castle keep.

"Well, back to the dungeon I go."

As the somewhat dumbfounded clan followed Angel back into the castles interior,

Xanatos turned to Owen,

"Check the phone records Owen; I want to know if our new guest contacted any of his

associates."

"Of course Mr. Xanatos."

Goliath hurried to catch up to Angel who seemed to be striding everywhere as fast as possible.

"I do not appreciate you knocking a member of my clan unconscious." He growled

Angel took a few more steps before he jerked his head up, as if he was shocked to find Goliath suddenly standing next to him.

"Huh? Oh yeah right, right well you know I just really needed a smoke and tubby just wouldn't budge so…whack!" Angel crashed his fist into his palm, and let out a perverse giggle. Goliath blinked and looked at Angel again. The smaller Gargoyle seemed to be bursting at the seams with a boundless energy, and his every movement was jerky and accelerated.

"Are you…well?" Goliath asked. Angel adjusted the hospital robe he was wearing and looked slightly embarrassed.

"When I broke into that fucking medicine cabinet and injected all that adrenaline I still wasn't one hundred percent…besides, like blondie said, that shit was made for like humans, not guys like you and me! So I dug up a bottle of some kind of speedand scarfed about half of it!" after a few more steps Angel suddenly burst out in a savage yell and took off running down the hall, before bounding off a wall and

running down the corridor back towards the infirmary. Goliath stared, and Elisa ran up beside him, weapon drawn.

"Goliath what the hell did you say to him?"

"Nothing. But he said he had taken some kind of pills from the infirmary…speed?"

"SPEED?" Elisa turned and shouted at Xanatos "What the hell are you doing with

speed?"

"What?" Before Xanatos could say anything else, Owen stepped in.

"I believe what the detective is referring to is the infirmary's supply of Dexamphetamine, which our new acquaintance has clearly ingested."

A loud crash followed by a barrage of curses echoed from the hall way Angel had ran down.

Elisa rolled her eyes and looked at Goliath.

"Did he say how much he took?"

"I believe he said some thing about half a bottle."

Elisa groaned. Dealing with a Gargoyle wired to the wing tips on uppers was not very high on her list of priorities.

"We might as well give him his pants back, because he isn't going back to that hospital bed any time soon."

After finally convincing Angel to follow them to the room where they had been keeping his clothes, they locked him inside while he got dressed and Elisa tried to figure out what to do with him.

"We'll have to lock him up some where…"

"Why is that Elisa?" Goliath asked. Elisa sent a sharp look at Goliath; his tone made it clear he didn't approve the idea.

"Because...I mean you saw him! He's so high right now who knows what he could do!"

As if to underscore her words, the muffled sound of Angel singing "Sympathy for the Devil" at the top of his lungs drifted into the hall.

"But that's not the only reason is it?"

Elisa nodded, flustered at Goliaths' ability to read her.

"Goliath, I don't think he knocked Broadway out and took half a bottle of speed just to go outside to smoke a cigarette. And if he did, there's something very wrong with him."

Goliath nodded,

"You have a point. As much as I hate to lock him away, for now it's probably the best idea. We should put someone on this door, too make sure he doesn't escape."

Elisa nodded and smiled.

Angel, meanwhile, had been leaning against the door listening to the conversation, all the while singing to keep from arousing suspicion.

"Pricks." he muttered before stumbling over to a phone by the bedside, he lifted it off the hook, put it to his ear, and heard nothing. Owen had had the foresight to cut the signal to the phone already.

"Shiiit!" Angel hissed before setting the phone back down.

He had knocked out the fat guy in his hospital room and escaped with the intention of going outside and taking a quick cigarette. To his drug befuddled mind that had seemed like a good idea, and by the time he realized that he could at least phone his guys to let them know where he was, it had been too late.

Oh well, he thought, there's always the next time.

Angel reached down to the table his clothes had been deposited on and began to get dressed, which between the speed and the fact that he still had one arm in a sling, proved to be quite a way to pass the time.

Across town in dingy bar in a run down industrial district, a dozen members of Angels' Motorcycle club, the Vikingz, huddled around pair of tables, listening to Tramp tell his story.

"So we were in this pool hall okay? And than some of those Quarrymen psychos bust in and call out me an the Chief right, so we pound the crap out of 'em and get the hell out, but about seven blocks away a fucking attack helicopter pos up outta no where…"

"An Attack helicopter?" A Leviathan Viking with arms as thick as tree trunks demanded. "They let those fucking paranoid brown shirt wannabes fly attack helicopters and I can't even buy a gun because of some shitty assault charge? Bullshit!"

Scagg, the Vikingz club vice president smacked the leviathan biker in the head with a beer mug.

"Shut up Smalls." Scagg nodded at Tramp to continue.

"So anyway, we was riding full tilt away from this fuck wad, and all the while he was spraying bullets at us like rain. Must have hit like thirty civilians trying to get at us. But the Chief and mr, we split up, and god knows what happened to him after that."

As Tramp finished a pair of solemn faced Hells Angels walked into the dingy bar, and made bee line for the Vikingz.

"We got some shit news guys." One said

"We just heard the cops found a panhead chopper wrapped around an office building downtown with a crashed Quarrymen whirly bird on the pavement nearby." The other

explained.

A dead silence as broke out as the Vikingz digested the news.

"Any bodies?" Scagg asked, his hands gripping the table so tight the knuckeles were bone white.

One of the Hells Angels shook his head.

The Vikingz seemed to all exhale at once, Tramp took his head in his hands and laughed.

"What the fuck is so goddamned funny?" Smalls, the giant biker demanded.

"Man, do you have any idea how pissed the boss is gonna be at those masked motherfuckers for trashing his bike?"

The Vikingz broke into raucous laughter as they imagined and plotted the hellish revenge they would reap on the "Concerned Citizens" group that had the audacity to attack their leader, destroy his bike and shoot up another of their comrades.

Scagg broke apart the round table discussion of premeditated murder by slamming his fists on the table top with a resounding crash.

"Listen up boys! Just because the Chief ain't dead, that don't mean he isn't in deepshit!Tramp, take Billy and Det, start checking out down town, see if you can find the boss. Animal," Scagg pointed to Viking with a look wild enough to do justice to hisnamesake,

"Go over to the Angels' clubhouse and break out our stash."

"Sure thing Scagg." Animal nodded and headed to the door, with Scaggs' search detail right behind him. Turning to the two Hells Angels, Scagg asked, "What did Tony say about us getting some pay back? Is it okay for us to take on these Quarrymen Pricks?"

One of the Angels nodded.

"He said it was cool for you to do what you have too, but once it's done, you guys got to go, we don't need all the heat from hiding you."

"Fine. Fair enough." Scagg turned to the remaining Vikingz, "The rest of you spread out, find the others, and send them back to the club house to arm up."

The Vikingz went outside, jumped on their bikes, kicked the starters and rode off in all directions to collect their brethren.

Dawn was approaching, and the Manhattan Clans patrols were making haste on their return trip home form patrol. As they neared the Eerie, Brooklyn and Lexington spotted a trio of biker riders at a stop light.

"Hey! Check it out!" Lexington shouted, as he pointed at the trio of bikers,

Brooklyn started to dive down to the roof tops.

"Hey, what are you doing?' Lex demanded as he followed his impetuous sibling down towards a nearby building.

"Those guys might be in the same gang as the guy we have locked up in the castle."

"So?"

"So their probably out looking for him!"

Brooklyn watched as the trio rumbled by his perch on the roof, his keen eyes picking out the design of the three piece patch he was wearing on his back.

"Vikingz, same as the Gargoyle Xanatos picked up."

"There's not much we can do about it right now Brook." Lexington motioned to the

growing light as the sun crept upwards.

"Yeah, I guess not." reluctantly, he followed Lex he leapt form the castle and into

the air currents.

On the ground, Tramp had just happened to be glancing upwards when he saw the two Gargoyles taking flight.

"YO! Check it out!" he said, pointing at the two shadows that flitted across the sky.

"Hey Tramp, that sure as hell ain't the chief!" The Viking named Billy said.

"No shit! After 'em." The three Vikings took off after the airborne gargoyles, taking advantage of the wonderfully straight street grid of Manhattan to aid them in their pursuit.

They stopped two blocks short of the Eerie building, and watched as Lex and Brook disappeared into the cloud cover around the buildings pinnacle.

"They gotta live in there somewhere man, I mean, nothing else is up that high!" Det pointed out.

The trio of Vikingz sat on their bikes and stared at the tallest building in the world, each wondering if their leader was locked away inside.

"If he's up there, we're gonna need a lot more guys to get him out."

"Come on Elisa, you can't tell me you're not the least bit curious."

Elisa let out a yawn before answering.

"Fox all I want right now sleep. I can't see what the big deal is anyway."

The red haired woman laughed,

"Its not everday I get to see a stone Gargoyle dressed as an outlaw motorcyclist,

and just the thought seems pretty funny to me."

Elisa let out a short bark of laughter.

"You could have just asked Brookyln."

"Brooklyn wouldn't work, he couldn't grow a beard. Now Goliath I could see, but not Brook."

"Hey!"

"Can't you just see it Elisa? Goliath in full Hells Angels regalia, roaring up on his chopper to carry you into the night and ravish you mercilessly?"

Elisa began laughing hysterically, the image too ridiculous to bear contemplation.

She was still laughing when Fox unlocked the door and opened it to reveal Angel leaning back in office chair facing the window, basking in the early morning sunlight.

Elisa abruptly stopped laughing.

"S'bout time someone let me outta this cage." he said as he slid out of the leather chair and draped his Vikingz colors across his shoulders. Seeing the dumfounded looks Fox and Elisa where sending him, turned around, expecting to see some horrible enemy ready to rip him in half. Finding none, he turned. "What?"

A dozen blocks Away, Tramp was excitedly talking on a pay phone to Scagg.

"Yeah, no doubt about it, Chiefs in that bigass tower, it's only like four blocks away from where he crashed his bike! No if those Quarryfucks had nabbed him they'd be dragging him around the street from a fucking truck. Alright, cool!"

Tramp turned to Billy and Det, "Mount up boys! Its on!"

Revving their engines, the trio took off back towards Brooklyn, where the whole Vikingz Club was gathering. After the pulling into the abandoned warehouse that the Vikingz had taken over for a temporary staging area, the trio fell into line of outlaws that stood waiting to

be given a weapon from the arms cache the club had lugged with in the bed of a pick up. Smalls was doling out the arsenal of submachine guns, shotguns, assault rifle and pistols while Scagg was handing out Magazines and ammo.

Just as the weapons issue was drawing to a close, Scaggs' cell phone began to ring.

"Yeah..."

Back at the Eerie Building, Angel had managed to find a working phone after slipping past an apparently frozen Fox and Elisa. While the now frantic pair excitedly chatted down the hall, Angel had called his second in command.

"Guess who bitch! Right the first time Bro! Your not gonna believe where I am man! You know that big building with a fuckin' castle on the top....no shit? He did?

Tramp is still one smart motherfucker....so what are you guys doing? Whoaa man, hold the rescue effort, just send someone down here too pick me up!" Angel glanced at Elisa and Fox, who had given up their conversation and were now headed his way. "No way in hell can they

stop me. But what about my bike…THOSE MOTHERFUCKERS!" Angels shout seemed to echo through the castle and froze Elisa and Fox in their tracks, "Fucking pricks! Nazi fuckos! Fucking get ready, I'm on my way! We're going after the bastards!" Storming back towards the room he had spent the night in, Angel grabbed his weapons and stormed back down the corridor.

"Where's the elevator?" He demanded of Fox.

"What's…"

"Look lady, I'm in a real shitty mood right now, so where's the damn elevator?!"

Correctly guessing that the situation could only go down hill, Fox led Angel towards the main elevator.

When they got their Angel hit the call button, and when the elevator doors opened, he shoved Fox and Elisa inside.

"Just making sure there are no problems." He muttered, before moving to the rear of the elevator and keeping his back to the wall.

"This place got a garage?" he asked.

"Yes…"

"That's where I'm going."

As the elevator droned downwards, Angel slowly regained control of himself. When the elevator finally slid to a stop, Angel poked his head, checked the area, and motined for Elisa and Fox to get out.

"You guys keep the keys down here?" Angel asked as he surveyed the long lines of luxury cars stretching before him. Fox and Elisa were silent.

"Fine, I'll just hot wiring something than." storming towards the nearest line of cars, Angel began searching for a car he could lift easily. Towards the back of the garage, angel spotted a line of motorcycles.

"Yes..."

hopping on a brand new Honda ST-1100, Angel deftly tore open the plastic cover on the engine, hot wired the ignition, slammed down on the starter pedal, and prepared to take off.

In the meantime Elisa had dashed towards the garage door control while fox desperately tried to contact David.

Angel slammed the bike into gear and sped down the rows of cars towards the garage exit. Using a door opener he had snatched from a Bentley he had checked out, he opened the massive steel door and was almost there when Elisa began to close it. When it became obvious he wouldn't make it standing up, Angel laid the bike down until it was nearly

Parallel to the ground and slid under the closing gate. Once outside he barely righted the bike before it slid into oncoming traffic. Once he had the bike righted, Angel sped down the street, engine going full bore.


	4. Chapter 4

The Honda ST-1100 sped towards the closing steel shutters, wobbling slightly under

the one-handed control of its rider, it suddenly turned sideways as Angel began to

lay the bike down too slip past the falling steel door. As the bike touched ground,

its plastic engine covers began to shred, leaving the bare metal innards to send

showers of sparks off the concrete floor of the garage. With a few feet to spare

the bike slid under the steel shutter and onto the street beyond.

"Stop it there Owen."

The monitor turned dark blue as Owen stopped the security recording. Turning his

leather office chair to face Elisa, Xanatos asked;

"He slips past you, calls his gang, than takes you and my wife hostage, takes the

elevator down to the garage, steals one of my favorite motorcycles, and escapes the

most heavily secured private residence in the word?"

"Shut up Xanatos."

"I was just making sure I've got it right, that's all." Xanatos raised an eyebrow,

"I can't help but notice the usual venomous glare you sent me is a little worse than

usual, any particular reason?"

Slamming a fist into Xanatos' jet-black desk Elisa shouted at Xanatos,

"Why the hell did you stop me from putting an APB out on that bike! Who knows what

that outlaw bastard and his little friends are up to?" A dry chuckle from Xanatos

silenced her tirade.

"Detective, you seem too have forgotten that you are not dealing with your typical

motorcycle hoodlum here. More than a few questions would have arisen from the

arrest of an outlaw biker with wings and a tail, and more would have arisen form the

fact that he was riding a stolen Honda registered to a man accused by the Quarrymen

of sheltering a clan of gargoyles."

Her anger deflated, Elisa sank back into her chair.

"Why the hell didn't you say that before I made an ass out of myself?"

Xanatos waited a moment before answering.

"Because it wouldn't be as fun as seeing you make an ass out of yourself."

Luckily for Xanatos the sun began too slip below the horizon before Elisa could

decide which of his bones too break,

"Detective, perhaps you would like too greet Goliath and give him the new?" Owen

asked form the corner of the office.

Letting out a wordless snarl, Elisa stormed out of the office.

Looking at his employer Owen dryly asked,

"Sir, might I suggest Russian roulette as a safer way too toy with death?"

In the castle courtyard, Elisa watched as the clan burst from their stone shells in

a symphony of crashes, yawns, and screams.

Spotting Elisa, Goliath glided form the tower and landed next to his beloved,

enfolding her with his wings.

"What is the news, Elisa?"

"Well…"

"I say we just go out and kill half a dozen of these little Quarrymen fuckers, then

blow town," Animal declared, crossing his hairy forearms and leaning against the

corrugated metal wall, he dared anyone to come up with a better idea.

"That's fucking brilliant man! We just go out, kill six people, than roll on down

the road!" Skagg mocked form the seat of his parked motorcycle.

"Fuck you man! You just gonna let them get away with tryin' to kill the Chief and

Tramp?" Another Viking yelled from the rear of the throng of outlaws gathered

around

the row of parked Harleys that lined the right wall of the abandoned warhouse.

"Did I fucking say that?" Skagg demanded as he searched the crowd of biker's for the

one who had doubted his commitment to the outlaw's code of vengeance.

"All of you shot the fuck up." Angel ordered from the stack of dust covered crates

he was sitting on, "Here's what would happen if we went with Animals idea." Angel

explained, his voice betraying no hint of emotion, "We go out, shoot a few of these

hammer boys, maybe beat a few to death, and than we leave town. A month or three

months or a year later, when the cops finally get around to checking things out,

they'll probably figure out it was us. But we won't be here. So what the cops will

do is arrest about twenty or thirty members from some club or another, put together

enough evidence to bullshit their way to a trial, then they'll see how many they can

put in the slammer for the rest of their lives." Angel hopped down from the crates

and landed with a loud thud on the battered stone floor of the warehouse. "So what I

think we should do is just go out, find a few of them, pound the livin' crap out of

'em and call it even."

"Then what?"

"Shit I don't know…hell, why don't we just stick around here for now?"

The Vikingz all looked confused. They had expected a return home to their old

stomping grounds after the business with Quarrymen ha been sorted out.

"Shit man, I've had more fun since we showed up in this city then I've had in years.

I say we stay." even the Vikingz still wearing the casts and bandages from the

injuries Demona had inflicted had too nod at that.

"Sounds cool to me Chief, 'sides, you an' me ain't goin' nowhere without any

bikes."

Angel shrugged.

"We'll worry about that later, right now I want everybody to dump their guns back in

the truck and get ready too move."

The band of Vikingz began depositing their weapons back in the bed of the clubs

truck when a pair of late arriving bikers pulled into the hideout. As they parked

their bikes, Smalls, the enormous Vikingz sergeant at arms stormed towards them.

"Where've you two fucks been? Huh?"

"Whoa easy man we didn't know where to find you guys…" Basky began to protest,

"We were out pulling a job, things got a bit dicey, so it took us awhile too find

you guys okay?" Gothic said, while dismounting his red and black chopper.

Smalls grunted before turning and looking around the warehouse for Angel. Spotting

him he shouted; "Hey chief!"

Angel turned and saw Smalls standing with the two late arrivals and walked over.

"Yeah?"

"They say that little deal of theirs went crazy."

Angel glowered.

"You said that nothing could go wrong."

"That's what I thought Chief! Except when we got there the buyers just went nuts!"

Gothic explained what had happened the night before at the Sinners Paradise.

Angel grinned at the description of the two lunatics the pair had run into in the

back office.

"Yep, this town gets more interesting by the minute." Angel started too walk away,

but turned around abruptly, "By the way you guys get too stay here and watch the

truck. Next time you better catch up faster."

Basky let out a long breath of relief when it was clear that was the only punishment

they were going too receive.

"Man, I thought the chief was gonna be PISSED."

Gothic let out a snort of laughter.

"He's havin' a good time! But you know who's gonna be real pissed off?"

"Who?"

"That idiot back at the club, when he figures out we sold him a bag full of blue

M&Ms."

Basky broke into a fit of laughter that was drowned by the roar of the Vikingz bikes

as they left their sanctuary to go wreak havoc on the fools who had seen fit too

cross them

"But Goliath…" Elisa protested,

"No, Elisa. That's final, you ask too much! My clan will not protect those bent on

our destruction!"

"But that outlaw bastard and his gang will be looking for revenge on the Quarrymen

for last nights attacks! Who knows what their going to do!"

"Don't pull the tigers tail unless your ready for his teeth." Brooklyn said,

earning a glare from Goliath and Elisa. A bit put out, Brooklyn hopped down from

the wall walk where

Elisa and Goliath were arguing and walked too the TV room. Walking in, he found Lex

playing on the computer while Hudson watched TV.

"What's up Brooklyn?" Lex said, without looking away from the computer screen.

"Not much…it's just Elisa thinks we should go out and protect the Quarrymen."

"WHAT?!" Lex exclaimed, and whipped his head around, "Why?"

"No doubt she thinks th' young lad and his friends will be out for blood tonight."

Hudson said, "That how these "biker" types operate, an eye for and eye." A

reminiscent smile spread across his face. "Reminds me of the old days."

"How'd you know that the bikers would be out for revenge?" Brooklyn asked.

"What? Oh…I saw somethin' on th' History Channel a while back about th' Hells

Angels.

I don't see any reason for our friends too act any different."

Brooklyn opened his mouth too say something, Goliath and Elisa walked in, apparently

they had resolved their dispute. By the looks on their faces, neither one was happy

with the results.

"When you're out on patrol tonight, you might come across some of these 'Vikingz'

battling the Quarrymen." Goliath paused and looked around, "Where are Broadway and

Angela?" Hudson and Lexington shrugged while Brooklyn suddenly looked moody.

"Ah." Goliath said, before carrying on, "When you find them please tell them what I

am about too tell you…If you see the Quarrymen and the Vikingz going at it, I want

you too intercede if it seems that innocents are endangered."

"But otherwise…" Hudson asked.

"Our presence would only make things worse; we could turn a crowd of bystanders into

a mob without warning."

"But father, the Vikingz could kill someone!" Angela said from the doorway where she

and Broadway had been standing.

"I'm sorry my daughter but I will not put my clan in danger to safeguard those who

would destroy it." Goliath said in a somber tone.

Angela seemed too want too say more, but she held her tongue.

"All of you be careful tonight-I want too see you all here in the morning."

With that the clan began too break down into patrol units and take off into the

night.

By luck of the draw, Hudson and Brooklyn were paired together.

"What's on your mind laddie?" Hudson asked, as the pair glided towards the Brooklyn

Bridge. Brooklyn looked at him and sighed.

"I think its great that Goliath and Elisa are together but…" Brooklyn hesitated.

"Go on. Finish what ye started lad."

"How can she want us to protect the Quarrymen? She knows damn well they want us all

dead! Probably her included if they knew she was with Goliath!"

Hudson looked at the youngster with a look of sorrowful amusement.

"What?" Brooklyn demanded.

"So if Goliath had said 'sit back and watch these people be slaughtered' ye' would

have been perfectly happy?"

"They wouldn't be slaughtered! The Quarrymen have a fucking arsenal, bedsides those

crazy hammers they've got tons of guns, lasers and attack helicopters!"

"Aye, they do. But you saw that lad who was in here the other night. The way he

carried himself, even hopped up on speed he looked like a fighter. His lads'l only

be more of the same. You think a pack of school teachers and housewives playing

special ops could stand up to them?"

Brooklyn looked at the ground.

"I guess not."

"Besides lad, Elisa took a vow too protect this city and everyone in it. That

includes scum like the Quarrymen." when Brooklyn nodded, Hudson continued, "And you

took a vow to do the same lad."

Brooklyn looked at him and nodded again.

"So anyway," Brooklyn said, changing the subject, "What do you think about our new

acquaintance?"

"If your talkin' about the lad who busted out of the hospital ward, to tell you the

truth he seems an okay sort."

"Huh?" Brooklyn had thought any gargoyle who so blatantly denied almost every

tradition of his race would rise the old timers hackle's.

"Oh aye, he's a bit strange, and I don't appreciate his punching out Broadway, but

he seems to just be a guy who 'does his own thing', as they say nowadays," Hudson

paused,

"And the word choice in his clubs name leaves a bit too be desired." Hudson turned

too Brooklyn, "And what do you think lad?"

"I don't know. I'm not too fond of these outlaw biker types after what that one

pack of bastards did too my bike…but I never expected too find a gargoyle riding

with an outlaw club!" Before Hudson could reply, he spotted a small gathering of

Quarrymen walking down loitering on a street corner. And a block away, a pair of

chopped Harley Davidson's idled at stop light.

Trying not to observe the gathering of Quarrymen too obviously, Det and Animal

searched for a hidden place too park their bikes while they phoned Angel.

After pulling into a dark alley, Animal pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and

began dialing. After explaining where they were to Angel, Animal hung up and the

pair started to wait for the cavalry. Fifteen minutes later, two cars pulled up down

the street from the Quarrymen. Angel, Smalls, Tramp, and six other Vikingz piled

out, each one armed to the teeth with baseball bats, crowbars, chains, pipes, brass

knuckles, and leather saps.

Angel advanced in the forefront, his motorcycle drive chin in one hand, brass

knuckles on the other.

When the Quarrymen saw the crowd of bikers coming towards them, one, a former member

of the Pagans motorcycle gang, identified the revenge party for what it was, saw the

deadly intent in the eyes of the Vikingz, and ran as fast as he could the other

way.

He was promptly followed by several of his more quick thinking and self perseverance

minded comrades. The other twelve or so were either too scared or too stupid too

follow.

When they were within a few feet of the Quarrymen, the Vikingz stopped short.

"Who's in charge here?" Angel growled.

The apparent leader of the Quarrymen was shoved out of the crowd and towards Angel.

"W…we…don't…want any tr…trouble." he stammered.

Angel suddenly uncapped his wings and flared them above his head.

"What about now?"

"Monster!" the Quarrymen shouted with a mixture of fear and hatred, the Quarrymen

tried too raise his hammer, but he didn't get far. Whipping his chain around the

Quarrymen's neck, Angel grabbed the far end in his other hand, and used it as

leverage to help drive the Quarrymens face into a savage head the pack of

Quarrymen watched their leader sink to the ground, the Vikingz let loose a savage

yell and waded into the mass of blue hooded stormtroopers.

On a nearby rooftop, Brooklyn and Hudson watched the brawl unfold. The Quarrymen

never stood a chance. One caught a baseball bat too the side of the head and

another too the pit of the stomach, folding like a matchbook, he fell to the ground

spitting blood. Another, brought to his knees by a shot from a pair of brass

knuckles, was slammed head first into the side of a parked car, which added the wail

of its alarm, too the screams and shouts of the brawlers. A Quarrymen tried to pull a

pistol from under his jacket, but was cut short when Angel lifted him up by his head

and shook him like a rat before tossing him onto the unyielding asphalt of the

street. At this point, only four Quarrymen remained on their feet. One made a

desperate charge at the Vikingz, with a fully charged hammer, only to be driven to

the ground and knocked out.

While the outlaws seemed to be preoccupied with stomping their suicidal comrade, the

other three Quarrymen bolted down a nearby alley, hoping to loose their pursuers in

the dark maze that ran behind the buildings of New York City.

They didn't get far.

A razor wire topped fence loomed out of the dark, stopping them dead.

They turned to find Angel at the head of a phalanx of Vikingz striding towards them,

One of the Quarrymen began shouting, begging the uncaring world for help, the shouts

identified her as a woman despite her hood and bulky uniform.

"Shut up bitch!" one of the other Quarrymen ordered, "If I'm about to get my ass

beat the last thing I want too here is some woman begging for mercy!"

"Leave her alone!" the third Quarrymen, by the sound of her voice another woman,

shouted.

Before the second quarrymen could say anything, a pair of dark shapes leapt off a

rooftop and landed between the oncoming Vikingz and the hysterical Quarrymen.

"I think you lads already got these sods good enough, aye?" Hudson said.

The Vikingz stopped short when the Gargoyles landed. Angel crossed his arms and

glowered. Brooklyn pointed to the cowering Quarrymen behind him, the big loudmouth

frozen in place, one woman sobbing quietly while the other tried to reassure her.

"Are these ones even worth the effort?"

"Hey!" protested loudmouth.

"Bob, for the love of god shut the fuck up!" hissed the woman reassuring her

friend.

Angel suddenly cracked a grin.

"Got a point there, Red." he turned to his fellow Vikingz, "Whaddaya say boys, wanna

call it a night?"

The bikers shrugged, a few nodded, and angel turned back to the two gargoyles.

"Looks like it's your lucky night boys."

Brooklyn started too bristle at the comment, but Hudson stopped him.

"Aye maybe it is."

Angel and a few of the Vikingz laughed.

"All right man. Be seeing you around." As the Vikingz walked out of the alley, Angel

turned around too face the Gargoyles.

"Hey! We'll probably be celebratin' tomorrow night if we ain't in jail! You should

stop by our place if you want!"

"Aye and where is it you'll be throwing this wee bash?"

Angel either didn't here or didn't answer, and walked out onto the street and hopped

in one of the cars he and his Vikingz had pulled up in.

Brooklyn and Hudson looked at each other and shrugged, then began too climb the wall

of one of the buildings that lined the street. While they were climbing, the

conscientious

Quarrywoman left her friends side and shouted to get the gargoyles attention.

"Hey!" when the gargoyles turned to look at her, she shrank back slightly,

"I,uh,wanted to thank you…"

Brooklyn and Hudson looked at each other.

"No problem." Brooklyn said.

"Maybe next time someone like us show up in this city you can think of something

better too do about it than join the Nazis." Hudson added

"uh, yeah. Sorry I guess."

"No problem." Brooklyn repeated, before he and Hudson disappeared over the edge of

the building and onto the roof.

"What the fuck was that!" Bob shouted "I swear too…" he was silenced by a well aimed

brick thrown from the rooftop.

"Hey!" the Quarry woman shouted, "I wanted to do that!"

"Sorry!" Brooklyn shouted, "couldn't help it!"

Back at the castle, just before daylight, as the clan climbed to the towers

crenellations,

Hudson turned too Brooklyn,

"So lad are ye goin' to go out and try and find that Viking lads party tomorrow

night?"

"Are you kidding?"

"Didn't answer the question lad, are ye or aren't ye?"

Brooklyn shrugged.

"Fuck it. Why not?"

The rising sun froze the grins on his and Hudson's faces.

Across town John Castaway, stared coldly at the police report in front of him.

Nine more of his followers were in the hospital. That number was added to the ten

put there the night before, as well as the loss of a helicopter. His organization

could easily absorb the loss of men and equipment, but the blow too its prestige was

irreversible.

Already the papers were asking; "how can the mighty Quarrymen stand up to the

gargoyles if they can't beat a few bikers?" Something had too be done, and done

quickly, for his organization too persevere.


	5. Chapter 5

he names "Hells Angels", and "Hells Angels Motorcycle Club" are the property of

the Hells Angels Motorcycle Corporation, and are used without permission

The name "Outlaws" and the "Charlie" insignia are the property of the Outlaws

Motorcycle club, and are used without permission.

Jonathan Canmore liked having an ordered world. Everything in its place, every i

dotted and t crossed, himself and humanity on one side, monsters and traitors on

another. When something happened too disrupt that order, he usually found himself

in a very bad mood.

Like today, for instance.

He had over a dozen of his men in the hospital, all without a single dead monster

or traitor to show for it. The abilities of his group had been loudly questioned in

the media. And to top it all off, an exceptionally dangerous unknown had been

deposited on the neat mental chessboard he had made of his battle with the

monsters.

Canmore picked up a grainy black and white photograph from one of the files he had

spread before him, which showed a heavily bearded biker on a motorcycle, flipping

the bird to the federal agent who was presumably taking the picture.

"That's about the only known picture anybody in law enforcement has of a Vikingz

member, sir.", said the man seated across from Canmores desk, "They're pretty

secretive, not nearly as high profile as the other biker gangs."

Canmore nodded, "Thank you for bringing this file by Jeremy, it should prove highly

useful to our cause."

"No problem Mr. Castaway." Jeremy stood up, "I'm just glad I could get it,

Bluestones had it checked out for the last couple of days." as Jeremy stood, his

NYPD badge glinted in the sunlight that was streaming in through the high windows

behind Canmores' desk.

"Wait a moment Jeremy." Canmore said, "Bluestone, as in Matt Bluestone?"

"Yeah why…oh. I didn't even think about that…" Jeremy looked embarrassed,

"Don't worry about it, just get back to your precinct, I'll get this back too you as

soon as possible."

Nodding, Jeremy stood back up and left Canmores office, leaving Canmore alone.

Why would Bluestone have checked out a file on a biker gang?

The obvious answer was he had heard the rumor about it's having a very interesting

member, or…Canmore really couldn't think of any other reason for the head of the

gargoyle task force to need a police file on an outlaw motorcycle gang. The only

problem was that both of the clashes between his flowers and the Vikingz were being

handled as ordinary street crimes, according to his informants in the police, and

not a word was mentioned about Gargoyles in either one, so Bluestone should have

been stonewalled from any involvement with either case.

Canmore shrugged and set the file aside, before pushing his intercom button.

"Grace, if you would be so kind as to send in my next appointment."

"Certainly, Mr. Castaway."

Six very cowed looking Quarrymen entered his sanctum, with the air of a dissolute

bunch of third graders sent to the Principles office for punishment.

"You all understand the punishment for any Quarrymen who flees from a fight, do you

not?"

"But Mr. Castawa…"

"Silence!" Canmore slammed his fists into the desk,

The Quarrymen winced and stared at the floor.

"According to my standing orders, I should have your masks and uniforms stripped and

kick you out of the movement!" Canmore shouted, rising from his desk, he paced in

front of the line of Quarrymen, "You cowards fled from a fight that left nine of

your comrades bleeding on the street, without ever bothering too even look over your

shoulders!"

The two women in the group exchanged a quick glance when Canmores back was turned.

"But…" Canmore said, before turning and regarding the six with cold glare, "I need

the expertise of one of your number…" he pointed to one the men in the group who had

a ragged beard and greasy brown hair, "who is experienced in the world of our newest

enemy." He strode to the front of the ragged Quarrymen, "Miller, you were once a

member of a motorcycle gang weren't you?"

Miller nodded.

"Good. Your new task is two lead your comrades here to every biker scumhole in town,

until you find a few of these Vikingz, than you will bring them to me. If you all

manage to not screw up this simple task, I think I might be persuaded too overlook

your cowardice and let you stay on with the Quarrymen." Canmore pointed to the heavy

oak doors of his office.

"Now go."

The Quarrymen just barely managed not too run out the door, but only just.

"Looks like your new friend has been keeping busy Maza." Matt said as he sat down

at his desk with a newspaper, which he slid over to Elisa, "Check out page three."

Elisa picked up the paper and folded it open on the third page. "Quarrymen ravaged

in street fight!" an article proclaimed, along with a picture of a blood stained

sidewalk.

Elisa groaned as a witness described the attackers as 'looking like some of those

biker-types' and a report that nine people had been hospitalized after the brawl.

"I guess I should be thankful that it didn't make the front page." She said after

handing the paper back to Bluestone.

"It probably would have, if it wasn't for that civil war starting in the Balkans."

Elisa shook her head and sighed.

"Saved by mass genocide, I guess. The last thing this city needs is another horror

story about Gargoyles attacking 'innocent' people."

"Damn right." Matt said, "Some of the crap the press has been writing lately has

made me wonder how many of 'em put on blue hoods after work."

Elisa snorted, before returning too writing a report she had been working on before

Matt showed up. A few minutes later a uniformed officer deposited a brown file

folder on Bluestones desk. Elisa didn't pay any attention until Bluestone let out a

quiet curse.

"What is it?" Elisa said, looking up from her computer.

"A sergeant in the eighteenth sent this too me. It's a report about a disturbance

in a club, Two or three bikers ran out of the place, brandishing guns, This…" Matt

showed Elisa a page from the report, "Is a sketch of the insignia on the backs of

their jackets."

The police drawing showed a Helmet over two crossed axes, with the word "Vikingz"

across the top.

"Shit." Elisa swore.

"You wanna go check out this club tonight?"

"I guess we better." She said.

As she and Matt left the room she wondered what the mysterious Gargoyle was up to.

Angel lit another cigarette, using the butt of his previous one as a light

before tossing the burnt down smoke into the oily water of New York harbor.

"I hate the fucking ocean." He said.

"Chief, you're from California. Don't they burn you at the stake for sayin' shit

like that back there?"

"Fuck you Skagg."

Skagg let out an amused snort and walked back to the warehouse.

Angel lingered, glaring at the sea like he was trying too pick a fight with it,

before following Skagg back inside.

"Looks like the cops are staying out of this thing boss." Angel turned to see Billy

sprawled on an improvised chair made of bits wooden crates, reading a newspaper,

"Think their waitin too see who comes out on top of this little dispute we got going

with the Quarrymen?"

"Probably. They'd just love for us to tear each others throats out an' save them a

lot of trouble."

"Wouldn't surprise me at all." Gothic said, as he emerged from behind his metallic

red chopper, "Probably half the pigs in this town are hammer heads too."

Angel nodded before walking on into the middle of the warehouse. Surveying his

surroundings, Angel sighed and shook his head. The dilapidated warehouse made a

good base, being at the center of an area that was more or less completely

abandoned, but it didn't have jack in the way of creature comforts. Besides running

water and an electrical system dating back to World War Two, the warehouse had

nothing, to be honest. No furniture, only bare concrete, the nearest gas station

was miles away, ditto any other type of store, no telephone, and a bad rat problem.

Angel meandered his way through the mass of parked choppers and sleeping Vikingz

until he found Tramp and Det playing cards on an old fuel drum.

"Alright master scrounger," Angel said, pointing at Tramp, "You think you and your

side kicks can scrounge us up a few chairs, and some tables or something?"

Tramp adjusted his sunglasses and grinned.

"No problem chief."

"Good."

Angel walked away as Tramp and Det went to go get Billy.

"Basky!" Angel shouted,

"Yeah boss?" Basky was working on his bike and had to stand up to see Angel.

"Go around and take a collection from everyone, than use the money to get us some

beer for tonight."

"Sure thing boss."

Angel searched around again, then shouted, "Charmer!"

"Yo!"

"Take your Antonio Banderas impersonating ass out and round up some chicks for the

party tonight."

"No problem, Cheif."

Angel found Smalls curled up in a sleeping bag, in what he had been the warehouses

office. Angel rousted him with light kick.

Sputtering and cursing, Smalls rolled out of his bag.

"What!?" he roared.

"Get off your butt and dig up some food, at least enough for tonight and the next

few days."

"Huh?" Smalls asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

Angel sighed and told Smalls to find him after he had woken up.

"Jesse, Psycho, you guys get the weapons outta the truck and stashed someplace safe,

got it?" Angel told a pair of Vikingz that had been dozing on a broken-down couch in

the corner of the office. Angel walked back outside and had a few more bikers go

out to spread the word about the party in the right places.

As his army went out to do his bidding, Angel leaned against the massive front

entrance to the warehouse and stared westwards, across the water and up at the

worlds tallest building. After years of doing his damndest to avoid his own kind,

he was finding himself involved with Gargoyles once more. The question was, did

they know who he was? And if they did had they told his people about him, and where

he was?

"If they did, the bastards are in for a big surprise." Angel growled.

As Angel turned and walked back into the dim confines of the warehouse, a slight

breeze whipped across New York, like a sigh of anticipation.

Later that evening, as the sun finally sank beneath the horizon, the Manhattan

clan sprang to life. Shaking bits of stone off his body, Brooklyn turned to Hudson,

a slight grin still spread across his face. Angela and Broadway immediately leapt

off the tower to seek a few private moments before patrols began, and Goliath and

Lexington headed to the TV room.

"Hudson, how do you want to go about doing this?" Brooklyn asked.

"Hell lad, I was hopin' you had an idea."

"We could just check the biker hangouts and see if we can follow someone to the

Vikingz hide out."

"Sounds like plan." Hudson said.

"You know one thing bother me…"

"What's tha'?"

"If we don't go out on patrol…"

"Look here lad, even the police get vacations. And to tell you the truth, I could

bloody well use a day off."

"Yeah…yeah, I guess so."

Goliath suddenly emerged from the dark archway that led to the towers staircase.

"What are you to plotting out here?" he jokingly asked.

"Nothin' much lad, but Brooklyn here has himself an idea."

"What? Uh, I mean yeah I do. What if me and Hudson went around to some biker

hangouts and had a look see if we couldn't find out where the Vikingz are hanging

out?"

Goliath considered for a moment.

"That's an interesting idea…very well. But take your communicators, in case we need

your help with patrols."

"No problem, Goliath." Brooklyn said, before he and Hudson leapt into the wind and

glided off into the city.

Goliath turned and went to gather the clan for patrols.

Out over the city, Hudson and Brooklyn glided across the bay to start their search.

"Ye' handled that well, lad." Hudson said.

"I…yeah. But I don't like lying to Goliath."

Hudson nodded in agreement, "Lad, if you don't want to do this, we could just see if

we can find the place, than go home."

Brooklyn was silent, mulling things over.

"I guess…we'll see." He finally said.

The first biker hangout they came too was a much weathered pool hall and bar nestled

next to a dilapidated factory section. Perching atop a long unused brick smokestack,

the pair of Gargoyles watched the swarms of bikes pull up and park in long row in

front of the dingy tavern. Just as Hudson and Brooklyn were about to take off,

Hudson suddenly grabbed Brooklyn's arm and pointed to a black SUV pulling to a stop

a few blocks away from the bar.

"Who are this lot than?" he asked.

"No idea…" Brooklyn watched as four people got out of the SUV and walked towards the

bar, "Definitely not the usual clientele for that place, I bet."

The four looked around nervously as they ran the gauntlet of bikers hanging out in

front of the sprawling bar, before hesitantly walking inside.

"Something's up." Brooklyn said.

"You want to try for a closer look?" Hudson asked.

"Yeah.", Brooklyn closely examined the bar's roof. A few grimy skylights were cut

into what seemed to be the pool hall portion of the structure, "Those skylights

might work."

"Aye, but if ye' want to be sneaky about this, we'll have to avoid that crowd in the

front there."

"Okay…well. Lets glide down the street and swing around the back."

"Good idea."

As the pair leapt from the smoke stack, they never noticed a rusty sedan park behind

the black SUV.

Miller was terrified. Before joining the Quarrymen, he had been serving a five

year sentence in prison for raping a fifteen year old girl, a sentence that would

have been a lot longer if he had hadn't snitched out a dozen members of his

motorcycle club for dealing drugs, and now he was parked two blocks away from one of

the favorite hang outs of his old comrades. If they found him…he didn't even want to

think about it.

Suddenly, the drivers side door was yanked open and Miller was yanked out and tossed

on the street. Before he could say anything, he was hauled to his feet, shoved

against the side of the SUV and had a Colt 1911 pistol shoved in his mouth.

"Well, well, well-if it ain't the rat fuck." growled the shaven headed biker who

was holding the pistol.

"Think we forgot about you ya dumb fuck?" asked another biker who was more than a

few pounds over weight.

"um wif da carymen." Miller protested, his voice muffled by the big handgun in his

mouth.

"What'd you say prick?" the shaven headed biker asked after taking the gun out of

Millers mouth.

"I said I'm with the Quarrymen, so you fuckers better step softly!"

Shaved head looked at his portly comrade and laughed.

"So what?"

"Yeah; what the hell are they gonna do? Shit, after what the Vikingz freaks have

been doin' most a' you little fairies take off runnin' the second you here a set of

straight pipes."

Miller suddenly treid to scream, but was cut off when shaved head stuffed the pistol

back in his mouth.

"Open the trunk." shaved head said, "Lets get this prick to someplace more

private."

"Yeah."

After stuffing their erstwhile comrade into the trunk, the pair of outlaws drove

off, leaving the Quarrymen's SUV sitting with the vehicles door ajar alarm gently

dinging.

Inside the bar, the four Quarrymen sat in a booth, being eyed by the establishments

usual crowd in a none too friendly way.

"We better go." the blond woman whispered.

"Shut up Linda." growled the brown haired man.

"Bob you keep being an asshole and…"

"Shut your spic ass up Constance!"

"Bob what the hell is your problem?" demanded the fourth Quarrymen.

"Jerome, you keep outta this you black bastard." Bob said, speaking a bit louder

than he should. In the next booth, a huge African-American biker with a three piece

patch on the back of his leather vest that said "Outlaws" on the top rocker, above a

leering skull and crossed engine pistons, turned around and broke a beer bottle over

the loud mouthed Quarrymen's head.

Cursing, Bob stood up, but he promptly found himself facing a dozen bikers, all of

them with the same colors as the guy who smashed a beer bottle on his head. Bob was

quickly driven to the ground, where he fell prey to hellish rain of kicks as the

Outlaws pounded him mercilessly. A few minutes later, apparently judging the

Quarryman had had enough, the bars hulking bouncers pulled the Outlaws away and

tossed Bob out the door.

"You guys better clear out." one of the bouncers told the other three Quarrymen.

Without a single word of protest, the Quarrymen bolted for the door, scraped Bob off

the sidewalk outside, and dashed to their SUV.

"Where the hell is Miller?" Constance shouted as they opened the back doors and

tossed Bob inside.

"Who cares, those are his people back there anyway!"

"But he has the fucking keys!" Linda shouted as she hopped in the backseat.

"There in the fuckin' ignition Linda!" Jerome shouted as he started the SUV and took

off.

Back on rooftop of the bar, Hudson and Brooklyn had arrived just in time to see Bob

beaten to a pulp, and they watched the SUV peel out with a look of grim amusement.

"Fucking Quarrymen." Brooklyn said in an amused tone.

"Aye. Well, you want to check out the next bar now, or wha'?"

"Fine, let's go."

Back in Manhattan, the bouncer at the Sinner's Paradise was happy to see things

back to normal, at least as normal as could be, considering where he worked. He

idly rubbed his swollen nose, which Basky had broken on the way out of the club two

days ago. Hearing a slight commotion from the line of 'Vampires' that wound down

the block from the entrance, he looked to find a raven haired woman in a red leather

jacket shoving passed him, while her red haired partner flashed his NYPD badge.

"So much for normal." the bouncer lamented.

Inside the 'Vampire' club, Matt and Elisa had a quick look around at the Bizzare

décor and pasty club goers, before walking over to a low, dark wood bar that took up

one corner of the huge stone foyer.

"What can I get you two?" the bartender asked, with more cheeriness than was

warranted, considering her surroundings.

"How about a conversation with your boss?" Elisa asked, flashing her badge.

The bartender looked surprised, but she promptly asked,

"Do you have a warrant?"

"Do you have a liquor license you'd like to keep?" Elisa shot back, than she

motioned to couple who were dry humping in a nearby coffin, "Or maybe you'd like me

to send a report to vice about these little fun and games?"

"Come, Detective, that is most unnecessary."

The two detectives turned to find a black robed woman standing behind the, her black

hair pouring out of the blackness under her hood, "If you would follow me", she said

setting a hand on Elisa's arm, "Lord Romulus will speak to you.", with that the

woman seemed to almost glide across the floor and deeper into the club.

Matt and Elisa shared a quick confused glance before following the black robed

woman.

At the Vikingz warehouse, things had come together very nicely. Basky had shown up

with a U-haul full of beer kegs and dozen cases of booze, while Smalls had managed

to dig up a few barbeque grill's and enough food to feed a not-so-small army.

But Tramp had come through the best, showing up with a pick up truck and trailer

load of used furniture, which gave the battered warehouse a distinctly less

apocalyptic look.

The night was still young when another four Vikingz pulled up, fashionably late from

stopping to play a few games of pool at a bar in queens.

After parking their bikes outside, they swaggered in, making a beeline for the

improvised bar at the rear of the warehouse.

"Jonesy! Where the hell have you been?", Angel demanded, as he staggered over and

embraced the late arriver in a bear hug, "We was,…crap spilled my beer, hold on

sec…" Angel stumbled towards a nearby keg, leaving Jonesy and his late arrivers to

realize that "fashionably late" mean, "you're the only sober ones" at this little

soiree.

The Vikingz were halfway through the truck load of booze they had bought, and most

of them were eagerly chasing the two dozen women Charmer had managed to show up

with. Except for a few notable exceptions.

"Hey, Smalls." a radio hissed. Smalls picked it up and pressed the talk switch.

"Yeah?"

"Basky just spotted a pair of winged guests that tailed our late arrivers."

Smalls grunted in amusement, "The chief said he told 'em to come over to the party

if they wanted too. So tell 'em to come on down if they want."

"Ok, you say so."

On a rooftop next to the warehouse, Hudson and Brooklyn crouched in the shadows,

wondering what to do next, when they were surprised by a harsh voice that drifted up

from behind them.

"You guys can head on down if you want."

The Gargoyles whirled to find Gothic standing behind them, with a scoped rifle

nestled in the crook of one arm.

Hudson looked at Brooklyn, who let out a shrug that had a distinct air of

resignation, before both of them jumped off the roof top and glided too the front

entrance

Smalls gave them a once over, before pointing at the communicators on the Gargoyles

belts.

"You're gonna have to loose those." he said.

"Hey, their…" Broolyn began to protest, but the leviathan biker cut him off,

"Look man, either leave 'em here or don't go in,"

Brooklyn was about too protest further when Hudson handed his communicator too the

Vikingz Sergeant at Arms.

"Could ye' keep an eye on this gizmo than?" he asked.

Smalls shrugged, "Sure thing old timer."

Brooklyn was startled, but when Hudson disappeared into the huge warehouse, he

promptly handed over his own communicator before following the old soldier.

Catching up to Hudson, he found the older Gargoyle standing, and watching the crowd

inside with look that was both forlorn and envious.

"What?" Brooklyn asked, curious as to what had put Hudson onto such a weird mood.

"I was jus thinking how much things have changed since I was a lad."

"What do you mean?"

Instead of answering, Hudson merely pointed at a pair of bikers eagerly dragging a

drunken bimbo into a more secluded part of the warehouse, then at another Viking who

had a stunning red head lying on the seat of his bike while he went down on her, in

full view of the rest of the party.

"Jesus Christ…" Brooklyn murmured, his hormones suddenly kicking into over drive.

"You mother fuckers!" someone roared, before a tan and black blur slammed into them

both, enfolding them in a bone crunching embrace.

"How the fuck did you two get here!?" Angel shouted, as he regained his balance, but

before either Hudson or Brooklyn could say anything, Angel started laughing "Aw, fuck

it, who cares, lets get something too drink!", and with that Angel stumbled off

towards the bar, leaving the bemused Gargoyles to follow as best they could.

As they weaved their way through the crowd, Brooklyn noticed some thing odd.

"You notice the funny looks we keep getting?"

"Aye lad, I have, but I kina say tha' surprises me."

"But think about it; these guys have a Gargoyle for a leader, why would they think

twice about us?"

Hudson looked ahead at Angel, who was leaning against the bar, drinking Jack Daniels

straight from the bottle. Hudson evaluated the leather vest Angel was wearing, which

bore the Vikingz menacing insignia on the back, while the front was covered in

bizarre numerals, insignia and epitaphs whose meaning were a complete mystery to

anyone outside Angels own subculture, the battered, oil stained levis he wore, his

tattoo covered skin, and said;

"Nay lad. We're the first gargoyles this lot has ever seen, not counting Demona."

"But…"

"It 'twould be my guess that the lad in charge hasn't been a Gargoyle in a long

time."

As they reached the stack of crates the Vikingz were using as a bar, Brooklyn

started to ask what Hudson meant when Angel turned and saw them,

"Hey Psycho! Get my friends here a drink, bro."

The biker behind the bar turned his sunken, wild eyes on the Gargoyles.

"What can I do yah for?"

"Beer lad, and plenty of it!" Hudson said, which got him an approving nod and a

plastic cup over flowing with Budweiser, which he drained in a seconds.

When he was done, Hudson regarded the empty cup thoughtfully,

"Not the best I've ever had, but not the worst."

Psycho laughed, "Hey, at least it ain't Natty Light.", he refilled Hudsons cup

before turning to Brooklyn,

"And you?"

"Uhmm…well…" Brooklyn looked at the lines of bottles arrayed behind the bar, "I'll

try some of that stuff." he said, pointing at a row of squat, pint sized green

bottles.

"You sure man?" Psycho asked, trying to suppress a grin.

"Yeah, it's good stuff…isn't it?"

"What? Jagermeister? It's the best." Psycho said, before handing Brooklyn one of the

bottles, "be sure and chug it though; it tastes better that way."

Brooklyn eyed the bottle, than twisted off the cap, lifted the bottle, and poured

the murky liquid down his throat.*

Psychos grin of anticipation turned into surprised awe, as Brooklyn kept going,

eventually downing the whole bottle.

"Your shittin' me."

"What?"

"Nothin' man." Psycho said, even though his skin was going pale.

At the other end of the bar, Hudson was trying to carry on a conversation with the

drunken Angel.

"Wha'?" Angel asked, hanging on to the bar with both hands.

"I acksed yuir name lad."

Angel stared, concentrating hard.

"Ohhh, got ya. They call me Angel, man."

"Angelman?"

"No, Angel, A-N-G-E-L got it?"

"Aye lad."

"And you?"

"Hudson."

"Cool. So how did ya'll…" Angel let out a loud belch, "…end up in New York?".

"Well lad, that is quite a tale, but what about yourself? What are you an' these

lads of yours doin' here?"

"Not much. We just decided too head up here a few weeks ago."

"Ya just decided to up and ride to New York?"

"Yeah." Angel saw the mystified look Hudson was giving him, "What?"

"Nothin' lad. Just that a lot of things in these times catch me by surprise."

"Whaddaya mean, 'these times'?"

"Elisa…I really don't like this." Matt said, eyeing his surroundings with unease,

"And it smells like blood and…semen back here."

Elisa rolled her eyes, annoyed at her partners twitchiness,

"Matt, you're a member of the worlds greatest conspiracy, pulling the strings on

everything, and you get freaked out by a few rich Goth kids playing vampire?"

"Hey! At least…."

Elisa stopped talking as pale skinned man, resplendent in leather and satin, his

skin pierced by dozens of stainless steel spikes, emerged from behind a heavy steel

door and strode purposefully towards the two detectives.

"What can I do for you tonight officers?" he asked, "I don't believe that I left any

details out of the statement I gave the other night."

"We just have a couple of questions.", Matt said.

"Like what do you know about this?" Elisa pulled out the Police sketch of the

Vikingz colors. Romulus studied the sketch carefully, before saying;

"I don't believe I've ever seen that particular design before."

"Really?"

"Yes. Really."

"Because a dozen witnesses all say that these were the colors on the two bikers that

ran out of your office."

"I…well…NOW!" Romulus shouted.

A dozen people in red robes appeared from the heavy oak door ways of the clubs back

rooms, each of them leveling a gun at the detectives.


	6. Chapter 6

"What one minute…that psycho bitch with the laser cannon is one of yours?" Angel demanded,

"Nay lad listen…ye haf' ta listen ta me…she USED ta be Goliaths mate…wha' a bonny lass she used ta be as well." Hudson punctuated his lamentation by finishing his beer, which Psycho promptly refilled without being asked, " She wasna always such a cold 'arted wench."

"You say so pal." Angel muttered. He had been talking to Hudson for a solid half hour, all the while Hudson had been drinking steadily, and apparently hadn't noticed that Angel hadn't touched a drop of booze since they started talking, and was acting a lot less wasted than he had been when he greeted him at the warehouse entrance.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the bar, Brooklyn was feeling the effects of the bottle of Jagermeister he had slammed earlier.

"Sonofabitch…" Brooklyn said, as the world started to whirl around his head.

"Hey…Red…" someone said behind him.

Brooklyn turned to see a Viking with a wild beard and shoulder length black hair standing behind him.

"What?"

"Those girls at the end of the bar wanted too talk to you." the Biker said, and pointed at a short, perky looking blond, and a statuesque, dark skinned brunette at the end of the bar.

"But…"

The biker rolled his eyes and walked away.

Brooklyn looked at the two humans, who smiled and waved.

Slightly nervous despite his buzz, Brooklyn approached the pair at the end of the bar.

"Hey there! My names Anne." the brunette announced,

"And I'm Jeanette!" The blond shouted. She appeared to be nearly as wasted as Brooklyn was starting to feel.

"Hi…my names Brooklyn."

"Really? That's awesome!" Jeanette shouted, sidling closer Brooklyn.

"Uh…glad you like it."

Jeanette let loose a drunken cackle and set her hand on Brooklyn's thigh

His eyes wide, Brooklyn almost jumped away, but managed to stay still.

"So, you're a Gargoyle right?" Jeanette asked, which caused Anne to send her a disbelieving glance.

"Uhm…yeah…"

"So how do Gargoyles do it?"

Brooklyn started coughing, and Anne started laughing so hard she nearly fell on the floor.

"uh…well the same way as humans do…you know…" Brooklyn stammered.

The blonde promptly moved her hand up and rested it on Brooklyn's crotch.

"Prove it."

Watching this scene unfold, Angel broke off his conversation with Hudson and yelled at psycho,

"Hey Bro!"

Psycho walked over to Angel,

"Yeah chief?"

"Did you drop an ex in that chicks drink or what?"

"No way chief."

Angel shook his head and turned to Hudson,

"Little red fucker works fast, huh?"

Hudson looked up, bleary eyed.

"Wha' was tha' lad?"

"Nevermind." Angel took a sip from his bottle of Jack, "So, tell me about this Elisa chick."

"Well now…I think Goliath met 'er some night or another…and now…she helps us out sometimes, gives us a place stay now an' again…"

"Hey, Hudson." Angel interrupted.

"Aye lad?"

"I can tell that's bullshit man."

"Whaddaya mean?"

"I was awake long enough to see the looks she and that big purple mother fucker kept sending each other in that hospital room."

Hudson set down his beer and turned to face Angel,

"Aye lad…I'm not so drunk tha' I'd tell ya just anythin'." Hudson set a hand on his sword hilt, "The question is, jus' who badly do ye' want to find out wha' the truth is?"

Angel looked at Hudson, his eyes cold and measuring…he had the numbers to take the old gargoyle, he was sure…but Hudson looked like would take quite a few bikers down with him, and all for a few scraps of information that were of indeterminate value.

Angel shook his head.

"It no big deal man", Angel said, waving off two Vikingz that had seen the face off and had moved up behind the old gargoyle, "What do ya say we just drop the espionage crap and get wasted?"

Hudson relaxed, and moved his hand a way from the sword…but not too far away.

"Aye, laddie, sounds like a plan."

On the other side of the warehouse, Smalls and Charmer were leaning against the wall, watching as Brooklyn was yanked into the office, while the tall brunette stood outside, as if unsure what to do next.

"Jesus Christ…the little bastard's only been here half an hour!" Charmer said, shaking his head in awe. Smalls nodded in agreement.

"Where in hell did you get all these chicks anyway?"

"Just a matter of working the angles, bro."

"What angles?" Smalls asked,

"Well as you may have noticed, most university campus's in the great city of New York tend to be a bit liberal…" Charmer said, sounding more like a professor than an outlaw biker.

"Yeah, no shit!"

"And if you hadn't noticed, liberals seem to be a bit more supportive of the Gargoyles…"

"Yeah, so?"

"And who has the news been saying has been knocking the crap out of the local anti-gargoyle Nazis?"

"And? Ohhhhh…"

"Like, I said, angles." Charmer leaned against wall, smug as a cat that ate a canary, "I just cruised around town, checked out a few campuses…and voila!" Charmer waved his hand across the room. Smalls shook his head again and looked back at the battered office, just in time to see the brunette go through the door.

Outside the office, an eerie silence prevailed, as the rest of the partiers stared dumfounded while listening to the cries of pleasure that echoed forth from the small office . At the bar, Angel took another shot of jack before looking over at Hudson.

"God damn!" he mouthed.

"Aye laddie." Hudson slammed his own whiskey.

"Man, all that screamin; and roarin' reminded me of a fuckin' horror movie!" Tramp said, as he walked over to the bar.

On the other side of the ware house, Smalls was still leaning against the wall, talking to Charmer,

"Yeah, the Buell's probably a nice bike, but if I wanted a crotch rocket, I'd just buy a fuckin' Honda or Kawasaki."

"But the Buell has got…."

Suddenly, a deep voice came out of nowhere, and said;

"Brooklyn."

Both Vikings stopped talking and looked around in surprise.

"What the fuck was that?"

"Who the hell should I….."

"Brooklyn, come in." The voice said.

"Wait a minute…" Small pulled the two communicators he had taken from Brooklyn and Hudson out of his back pockets "Oh for Christ's sake, it's just these little fuckers…" Smalls looked around spotted Hudson by the bar.

"I guess I better go give that old fucker his radio back, later bro."

Smalls began to pick his way across the room, avoiding passed out bodies, copulating couples, parked motorcycles, and spilled beer. He was halfway to the bar when the communicator crackled to life again,

"Brooklyn, come in."

Glaring at the infernal device Smalls pressed the talk switch and spoke into the receiver.

"Hold your fuckin' horses, I'm goin' to get him!"

There was along pause, during which Smalls managed to get closer to the bar, before the deep voice crackled through the radio again,

"Who are you?" It demanded,

"None of your fucking business that's who!" Smalls shot back.

"What have you done with Brooklyn?"

"Hey Chief!" Smalls shouted.

Angel turned, and smalls tossed him the communicator.

"What the hell's this?" Angel asked

"Its that old dudes radio."

Before Angel could say anything, Goliath's voice demanded,

"Who ARE you people?"

"Wha…"

"You heard me!" Goliath shouted over the radio,

"Chief, I think your holding down the transmit button."

"Oh....hey, dude with the voice…gimme a second…." Angel passed the radio over to Hudson.

"Some guy with a deep scary ass voice wants to talk to you."

"So I heard…" Hudson took the radio from Angel and pressed the transmit button,

"Aye lad, what's on yuir mind?" he asked.

"Hudson what's going on?" An exasperated sounding Goliath asked over the communicator.

"I'll explain later lad, what's goin' on?"

Another long pause.

"Elisa hasn't called in…I have haven't been able too raise her for an hour.", worry replaced exasperation in Goliaths voice, "She said something about flowing a lead on a club the Vikingz had been seen at…", Hudson sent a sidelong glance at Angel, "but she didn't tell me where it was…"

"Hold on a second lad…" Hudson turned to Angel, "What club is he talking about?"

"Hey, I have no clue what the hell…wait a sec." Angel reached over the bar and snatched a two way radio off an improvised shelf.

He shouted into the receiver,

"Hey Gothic!",

"Yeah chief?"

"Get your ass in here!"

A few minutes later, Gothic shoved his way through the crowd and over to Angel,

"What?"

"Looks like one of these guys' old ladies has got herself into some trouble at that club you and Basky hit the other night…"

"They definitely seemed to have it in for gargoyles at that place." Gothic interrupted,

"They might be using the chick as bait…"

Angel thoughtfully nodded.

"Might could be the case…" Angel downed another shot of Jack Daniels, "lets go check this out." he proclaimed, and headed towards the Vikingz's truck.

"What?" Hudson and Smalls said at the same time, as they hurried to catch up with Angel.

"Chief, why the hell should we go risk our asses for some chick we don't even know?"

"Two reasons Smalls…one, I got a feelin' those fucks at that club are gonna be a pain in OUR asses soon or later, and I want to hit 'em so hard they can't get back up before they get a chance…"

Angel walked past the truck and opened up a small storeroom in the back of the warehouse, then moved some empty boxes aside and uncovered the Vikingz's arsenal, hidden by Jesse and Psycho earlier.

"And two, I'm pretty buzzed and a want to go fight someone."

Angel pulled the laser rifle the Vikingz had captured from Demona out from the stacks of weapons.

"And besides…I want to try this fucker out."

"Y'know Angel…ye could just have the pale one back there tell us where…"

"Nah. but hey, you can tag along if you want, Hudson ." Angel turned to Smalls,

"You stay here, and make sure the boys behave…" Angel pointed over his shoulder at the throng of Vikingz, "Gothic go round up Basky, Tramp, and Psycho…actually go round up anyone who's not too drunk to ride and wants a good fight."

Angel slung the laser rifle over his shoulder, before loading up a military style olive drab duffle bag with guns and ammunition, keeping a verbal inventory as he loaded;

"Lets see...sawn off 870…" Angel dropped a pump action shot gun with its barrel and stock cut down into the bag,

"AK…few mags…" In went an AK-47 with a paratrooper stock, followed by four thirty round magazines, "Another AK…couple boxes of shotgun shells…Uzi with clips…MAC-10…another shotgun…and we're done."

Angel grunted with exertion when he picked up the heavily laden bag, and walked back to the truck, where a handful of Vikingz had gathered.

"Alright boys here's what's goin' down." Angel set the bag down in the trucks bed, "Me an' Gothic are gonna head over to some Goth club in Manhattan and bust out one these guys' chicks." Angel said, pointing at Hudson, "If yah don't want to with us, its cool…if you do, grab your gun and saddle up."

The assembled bikers either headed to their bikes or back too the party.

While he waited for Smalls too clear a way too the warehouse doors for the truck and the small troop of Vikingz, Angel reached under the front seat of the truck and pulled out a small, heavy duty plastic case.

"Whatcha got there lad?" Hudson asked, when Angel set the heavy case on the trucks hood and started too undo the latches.

"Couple of sweet little numbers…" Angel pulled a stainless steel Colt Python out of the case, followed by a trio of speed loaders, "Three fifty-seven and…" Angel pulled a short barreled Forty-Five Automatic and a couple of clips, "Good ol' Forty Five."

After dropping the speed loaders and clips into his vest pockets, Angel tucked the Python into the small of his back, than pulled up the right leg of his Levis and shoved the forty five into the top of the black leather foot wraps he wore, which partly covered his high arched feet.

"I'm carryin' these in case the Phaser gun thingy doesn't work." Angel explained.

Smalls had managed to clear a way for the Truck and the six Harleys to get to the door, and Angel hopped into the truck, along with Tramp and Gothic.

"You comin' old man?" Angel asked Hudson.

Hudson sighed, "Aye I suppose, someone has to make sure you lot don't put a bullet through Elisa…" As Hudson opened the left rear door too the trucks extended cab, he paused, "Where's Brooklyn?" he asked looking around.

As if on cue, Anne's voice echoed through the warehouse,

"Oh my godddddddd!!!" she screamed, pure animal lust in her voice.

Angel laughed,

"Off hand, I'd say he was a bit busy…."

Hudson nodded, than hopped in the truck.

As the convoy was pulling out, Angel leaned out and shouted at Smalls,

"Make sure the Red Stallion back there gets his ass home in one piece okay?"

"No problem, boss!" Smalls shouted, as he watched the red taillights of the small convoy drive off into the city night.

Back in the warehouse office, Anne was bending over the old desk, while Brooklyn stood behind, thrusting away furiously. Each stroke he took caused Anne's erect nipples too grind against the rough desk top, creating a delicious friction that combined with the huge member thrusting in and out of her sex too make her scream with pleasure. As she reached the heights of orgasm for the third time, she heard Brooklyn let out a low growl, than a savage roar, and suddenly she felt warm liquid splash her inner walls as Brooklyn exploded inside her. The two lovers were still for a long minute, as they both gasped for air and tried to recover a grip on reality.

Brooklyn was first too move. Wrapping his arms around Anne's smooth belly, he slowly pulled her to his chest, than laid back on the floor, keeping Anne wrapped in tight. There was a slight wet sliding sound as Brooklyns still semi-erect organ slid from Anne's wetness, but other than that, a satisfied silence dominated the room.

"Wow…." Anne said, breaking the silence.

"Funny, I was just about to say the same damn thing." Brooklyn said.

Anne let out a short laugh, before rolling over and planting a kiss on Brooklyns nose.

"Hey…" Jeanette said from the couch, "You guys weren't having fun while I was out

were you?"

Anne stuck out her tongue in response. Jeanette sat up and stretched, her pert breasts jutting out wards. A Brooklyn watched the short blonde, he felt his member rising.

"Whoa…" Anne said in surprise when she felt the engorging member rub her inner thigh, "Are you human?!?" she demanded, as she watched Brooklyn harden too full erection.

Brooklyn raised a brow ridge,

"No." he said with a snort.

"Hey, that wasn't what I meant…." before she could finish, Jeanette lightly shoved her friend off of Brooklyn's torso, before straddling him herself.

"My turn!" she yelled happily.

As he felt Anne's wetness slid down his shaft, Brooklyn wondered how he was going to survive the night.

Across town in Manhattan, Matt Bluestone wondered the same thing, except in a far more literal sense. He was currently chained too the wall in the back of the club with Elisa, while a pair of the red robed gunmen that had captured them stood on either side of the heavy oak door watched their every move. Suddenly, the door flew open, and the spike covered man and the black robed woman strode into the room.

"I will take the winged ones mate too the sanctuary…" he was saying too the woman,

"You will stay here Temptress, get what you can from the red haired one…than dispose of him."

The woman flipped her hood, down, and regarded Matt with pale green eyes.

"As you command, Lord Romulus." she said, bowing her head to spike man.

Spike man motioned the two guards towards Elisa. When they got to her, Elisa kicked off the wall and swung into the nearest one, before turning and planting a savage high kick in the other red-robes chest. Before she could do anything else Temptress moved in behind her, and drove the pommel of one of her ornate daggers into the back of Elisa's head, knocking her cold.

"excellent work, my dear!" Romulus said, before turning to the two red robes, who were still writhing on the floor., "Stop screwing around and transport the prisoner to my car." he snapped, tossing them the key to Elisa's heavy manacles.

After watching the two guards recover enough too stagger over and unlock Elisa, than carry her out the door, Temptress turned too the still chained Bluestone.

"So…" She purred, twirling her dagger in her palm, "What shall we talk about?"

Outside the club, the bouncer was leaning against one of the heavy iron railings that lined both sides of the Sinners Paradise entryway. He looked up from the magazine he had been reading when he heard a distant rumble in the distance. Shrugging it off, he went back to his magazine. But the rumble kept getting louder. He looked up again, and was just in time to see a huge four door pick up truck careen around the corner a block away, than gun its engine and speed down the street towards him, followed by a swarm of chopped Harleys.

"Please god, don't let that be…" But his prayers went unanswered, as the truck stopped in front of the club with a squeal of tires, the swarm of bikes coming to stop all around it, blocking the street.

The trucks doors flew open, and the bouncer watched in shock as a pale skinned biker hopped out of it and began throwing the out riders weapons and ammunition from the bed, while a wild looking man with build of a beer barrel leaped out of the back, staggered a little, than pulled a nickel plated forty five from under his leather vest.

The bouncer took a step back as a green gargoyle strode around the cab and stopped in front of the club entrance, regarding it and its shocked warder with a cool measuring, glance, made all the more menacing by his one eyed gaze.

The final straw came when a huge gargoyle dressed in the same biker attire as the riders walked around the truck and swaggered towards the club entrance, the heavily armed bikers and battle scarred gargoyle falling in behind him.

For whatever reason, the terrified bouncer stepped in front of him.

"Uh…you can't go in theeeighh!" the bouncers sentence ended in a shout of pain as Angel reached up and squeezed the bouncers broken nose in between the knuckles of his right hand talons. Keeping a hold of the broken snout, Angel dragged the bouncer to the door, which he promptly kicked in. As Angel entered the Sinners Paradise, he swung the laser rifle off his shoulder and walked on, leaving the bouncer by the door, doubled over in pain. As the bikers shoved their way through the crowd of wannabe Vampires, Gothic pointed Angel to the heavy oak door that led too the clubs inner sanctum.

Pushing a few last 'vampires' out of the way, the Vikingz stormed towards the door, which was guarded by a pair of Romulus' red robed thugs. When they saw the line off outlaw bikers coming at them, both reached under their robes for their guns.

Back in the inner sanctum, Temptress had just started too get too work on Bluestone when a radio she carried under her robes crackled too life,

"Hey, whoevthers bacg thar…" the bouncers voice was slurred from the fresh damage done to his nose.

Angrily, Temptress pulled the radio off her robes and brought it too her lips;

"What is it?"

"Two thungs bith…furst, your about too have big twouble…segond, I FUGGING QUIT!"

Temptress flinched as the radio carried over the Bouncers shouted words.

Before she could say anything else, the air was rent by a sudden burst of full auto gunfire, followed by loud whine and a resounding crash. Dashing to the door way, Temptress stuck her head out in time too see one of the red robed guards cut down in the entrance way by a sudden burst of gunfire as a swarm of bikers poured through the smoking remnants of the heavy oak gates.

She promptly slammed the door shout and threw the heavy iron bolt closed.

"I love this gun!" Angel shouted, as he sent an angry red colored bolt into a red robed guard, sending him too the ground with a smoking hole through his body. Another red robe popped from behind the door and unleashed a burst of fire with his submachine gun, which went hopelessly wide. Gothic turned and blasted him in the chest with the 870 before the red robe could adjust his aim.

After seeing three of their comrades casually gunned down, whatever guards remained apparently lost their will to fight, because the Vikingz didn't take any more fire as they spread out too search the room. After finding all the oak doors were unlocked except for one, Gothic motioned Angel and Hudson over.

"I don't think their here…" He said, as the three watched Tramp come out of the steel doored office and shake their head, "Unless their behind this door."

Angel sized the heavy door up.

"Only one way we're gettin' through that." He said, raising the laser rifle.

Hudson and Gothic dove out of the way as Angel blasted the door, which flew open, slamming into the stone walls with a loud crash.

Angel let out a savage yell and charged through the smoking doorway, followed by Gothic and Hudson.

As Angel ran in, Temptress lunged at him, daggers drawn. Angel nimbly dodged the first stab, barely missed the second, and brought his laser rifle up to guard against the third.

Temptress dropped to the ground for a fourth stab that would have landed in Angels guts, if Hudson hadn't clouted her over the head with the flat of his sword.

As the black cloaked woman sank to the ground, her robes and jet black hair pooling around her, Angel looked at Hudson, who was sheathing his blade.

"That's one I owe you." Angel said with a nod.

"Aye lad, that it is."

Angel let out a snort and turned to look at Bluestone, who was still chained too the wall.

"Well lad, you appear none the worse for wear." Hudson said, as he walked over and yanked the chains off of Bluestones hands,

Matt shook his head,

"If you hadn't shown up…"

"Well lad, we did, so dinna' be worryin yourself." Hudson supported Bluestone with one arm as they headed back towards the outer club, followed by Angel and the Vikingz, who were dragging the limp Temptress along with them.

"Tell me lad, do ye' know where Elisa is?"

Matt's face looked even more distraught,

"No…the leader took her…to somewhere called the 'sanctuary'."

As Matt spoke, his wallet slipped out of his jacket pocket. Neither Hudson or Matt noticed it., but Tramp bent down and scooped it up, than flipped it open. He promptly snapped it shut, with a frown, before cacthing up to Angel and showing its contents to him. Angel looked at it, than sent a glare towards the staggering Bluestone.

When they got outside, Hudson set Bluestone down on the curb and turned too the Vikingz, who were loading the black robed Temptress into the pick up trucks cab.

"What do ye' want her for than?' her asked.

Angel turned to Hudson,

"Well we were gonna use her as collateral too get that Elisa chick back…" Angel growled,

"But that all depends if she's got one of these." Angel tossed Bluestones wallet in front of Hudson. Bluestones badge was inside.

"Lad, I canna understand wha'…."

"We just risked our asses too rescue a couple of cops that's what!" Tramp shouted.

Angel nodded,

"We don't exactly get along with the lovely men and women of law enforcement." Angel said, his voicing dripping sarcasm.

"But lad…" Hudson began but stopped when the outlaws began to mount up to leave,

"Angel!" Hudson shouted and ran to catch up with the Vikingz President.

"What?"

"Look lad…I know you lot canna be too fond of police, but by the dragon, ye' have too help us find that lass!"

"Why?"

"Because, even if she doesna' mean a damn thing too you, she means th' world too a friend of mine, if we can't find her…he'll die of sorrow."

Angel shrugged and continued on to the truck,

"Sucks to be him, I guess."

Hudson was tempted to ram his talons into the callous biker's neck, but kept his cool.

"You owe me lad."

Angel stood, his back going ram rod straight.

"Yeah…" Angel turned, "I guess I do." he ground out the words slowly, "But that's just me, my club doesn't owe you shit."

"Aye…but I'm sure any searching you do can be rewarded."

Basky turned when he heard the word 'rewarded',

"Rewarded how?" he asked Hudson.

"Well, David Xanatos is a close friend of Elisa's…" Hudson said, hoping the detective would never hear that he said she was David Xanatos' friend. But he succeeded in getting the full attention of the rest of the Vikingz, who looked from Hudson to Angel.

"Two hundred grand, in cash, fifty cases of beer, and a tanker truck of gas." Angel said, "And you've got our help."

"Deal." Hudson said, hoping he wouldn't have too twist Xanatos' arm too get him to pay up.

Angel shook Hudson's hand before getting into the truck.

"Alright old timer, see you tomorrow night."

The swarm of choppers took off, followed by the truck.

Hudson walked back too the curb picked Bluestone up, and climbed too the top of the nearest building before gliding back towards the Eyrie building


	7. Chapter 7

The sextet of chopped Harleys roared into a dilapidated warehouse, followed by an

extended cab pick up truck. As the vehicles rolled to a stop, the few Vikingz in

the warehouse still on their feet greeted the returning raiding party with shouted

greetings, drunken bear hugs and sprayed beer.

Angel staggered under the bone crunching embrace Skagg folded him in,

"Chief, man, why the hell didn't you come get me?" he demanded,

"Because your drunk ass can barely stand, that's why." Angel explained

"Bullshit, I can stand just fine…" Skagg let go of Angel and stood, "See?", he said,

before crashing too the floor, "Dammit…hold on a sec." Skagg tried to stand, but

didn't quite make it off the floor before falling back down.

"Maybe you should just go to sleep bro." Angel advised, shaking his head.

"Okay." Skagg said, before passing out.

Angel laughed and walked back too the truck, where Smalls was unloading the duffel

bag Angel had used too carry the raiding parties heavy weapons.

"So how'd it go?" The leviathan biker asked, casually slinging the heavy bag across

shoulder like it was nothing.

"Perfect."

"That bad?"

"Go stow those guns and I'll explain."

"Yeah…I'm especially curious about THAT." Smalls pointed over his shoulder at Gothic

and Basky, who dragging the unconscious form of Temptress out of the back of the

truck.

"Yeah…well thereby hangs a tale, bro."

Smalls rolled his eyes and sauntered towards the storage closet where the Vikingz

kept their arsenal.

Angel grabbed a coil of rope from the back of the truck, which he tossed too

Gothic,

"Tie el loca chica over there up someplace, I'm gonna make a few calls…"

Gothic nodded, than began to wrap the rope around the inert 'Vampire' while Basky

kept a pistol pointed at her head.

"Whoa!" Basky exclaimed.

"What?!?" Gothic backed away from the half tied body and reached for his pistol.

"Check her teeth out man!" Basky said, lifting Temptresses upper lip too reveal a

set of elongated canines, "Fucking cool, man!"

"Basky, you fucking moron…" Gothic muttered,

"What? Dude look at me and tell me that's notaaaaaaaahhhhhh!" Basky screamed, as

Temptress suddenly sank her teeth into his finger, "Shit!" he shouted, desperately

trying to wrench his finger free.

As Basky struggled, Gothic reached over and landed a savage blow to the side of the

pale woman's head, knocking her unconscious.

"Sonofabitch she's still hanging on!"

Gothic was laughing hysterically when Basky finally managed to free his finger.

"Oh man…" he said, watching blood trickle from the deep bite marks.

Gothic stopped laughing,

"You know…your probably gonna need too get yourself tested… "

"What?!?"

Gothic started laughing again.

"HEY!" Angel shouted, "Do your job and shut the hell up!"

"Sure thing Chief."

Angel put the cell phone he had taken from the passed out Skagg back too his ear.

"Sorry about that…yeah, I need you too be on the look out for this chick…what?...oh

yeah, hold on a sec." Angel took a photo he had stolen from bluestones wallet out of

his back pocket "She's short, got long black hair, kinda dark skin…probably a red

jacket, other than that I couldn't tell you…okay yeah, no problem…thanks brother."

Angel hit the end button and dialed another number. A long pause as the phone rang

again and again, then an electronic voice asking for a message.

"Jimmy, Angel. I need you to be on the lookout for a chick; short, black hair, dark

skin, gimme a call if you hear anything about her…"

Angel hit the end button again and dropped the phone on Skaggs chest.

"So, you ready to explain now Chief?" Smalls asked, returning from the arms room.

"What happened?" Goliath demanded of Hudson, "Who kept answering your radio…and

where is Brooklyn?"

Hudson, still feeling the effects of the Vikingz' alcohol, took a moment to process

the question,

"Well now…Brooklyn's in good hands," Hudson let out a low chuckle before continuing,

"very good hands from the sounds of things…" Hudson chuckled again, "But me an' the

lads we checked out that club…tried to call and tell you where it was but things

look different from the ground…I wasna able to figure out where the bloody place was

until too late,"

Of all the questions Hudson's ramble left, one was foremost in Goliath's mind;

"What of Elisa?"

"Well lad…we near tore the place to shreds lookin' for her, but she wasna

there…Bluestone says they took her somewhere else…"

"What!?!"

"Aye…dinna worry yourself though…" Hudson swayed on his feet, "Matt's back at the

precinct already, he'll have every cop in the city out looking for the pasty fucks

by morning…besides…I've a bunch of lads out looking for her too…"

"Who?" Goliath demanded.

Hudson ignored him and continued,

"Reminds me…I need too talk to Xanatos…"

Hudson staggered away, leaving Goliath to follow in frustrated bewilderment.

Observing the byplay from a nearby tower, Angela and Broadway exchanged worried

looks.

"This doesn't look good…"

Broadway nodded in agreement.

"At least Hudson saved Matt. Bluestone should have every officer in the country

looking for Elisa by tomorrow night!" he said, trying to put an optimistic face on

things.

Angela looked at him, appreciating his attempt at hopefulness. But worry still

clouded her features.

"Brooklyn still has not returned…and Hudson is behaving very strange…"

Broadway looked at his love, wondering how too explain that Hudson had apparently

been drinking, than how too explain the effect of to much alcohol to his amazingly

sheltered companion. Before he could begin, Brooklyn landed on a nearby wall

walk.

"There he is!" Angela exclaimed, before leaping off the tower and gliding over too

Brooklyn,

"Where have you been…" Angela paused as she caught an unfamiliar scent coming from

the red gargoyle. She sniffed again, detecting two distinctly female scents washing

off Brooklyn…and something else…a musky odor of sweat, adrenaline…and lust. Angela's

eyes widened.

Brooklyn met her gaze with dreamy, exhausted eyes, before waving tiredly and

stumbling off in the direction of the tower where the clan spent the day.

"What's wrong with him?" Broadway asked, as he landed next to Angela.

"I…uhm…I'll explain tomorrow night." Angela stuck her arm under Broadways, "We

should head for the tower as well…it's almost daylight."

Broadway looked puzzled, but allowed himself to be led to the tower without any

protest.

"You did what!?" Xanatos asked, his usual controlled attitude fraying badly. Hudson

had barged into his bedroom, shook him from a goodnights sleep, and then explained

that he needed a loan too pay off an outlaw biker gang; as far as Xanatos was

concerned, he had a right to be perturbed.

"Oh come on Xanatos…you know damn well that much is hardly small change too you."

Xanatos looked stonily at Hudson, than glanced at Goliath, who looked as angry at

Hudson as the billionaire was. That cinched it.

"Alright Hudson." Xanatos said, "You'll get your reward…if these Vikingz deliver

anything worthwhile."

Goliath looked surprised, than angry.

"Xanatos." he growled, moving closer too the bed.

"David what's going on…" Fox asked sleepily, rolling over too look at the two

Gargoyles.

"Nothing my dear…our friends were just leaving."

"Great…" Fox rolled back over.

Goliath sent an angry look at both Xanatos and Hudson, than headed for the door,

followed by the still swaying Hudson, who managed too shut the heavy wood doors on

his way out. In the hallway, a very angry Goliath stood waiting for him.

"Do spirits always make you such a fool, or did you just stick your head up your

tail for the night?" The purple behemoth demanded.

"Wha'?"

"Not only have you been…consorting with the criminals you were supposed to be

tracking, you've managed too put this clan even deeper in debt with Xanatos than we

were before!" Goliath took a deep breath and continued his tirade, "Or did you think

that Xanatos would want nothing in return for paying off your thugs?"

Hudson glared at the younger gargoyle.

"For one thing, lad, the only reason I got Angel's lads involved was because I

thought we'd need every live body we could find too get Elisa away from the bastards

who've got her, and if you don't like it…too bad." Hudson stormed away, leaving a

slightly mollified Goliath too follow in his wake.

As the first of dawns sunlight began to creep over New York, a jet black Rolls

Royce pulled too a stop in front of a dilapidated abandoned library near Queens.

Inside, a man with steel spikes jutting from his skin in various places shielded his

eyes from the sunlight.

"Lets get this over with before the cursed thing gets any higher, shall we?" he

asked the two red robed guards and black suited chauffeur.

"Yes, Lord Romulus." The two red robes echoed, getting out of the car. The driver

simply nodded and reached for the trunk release switch, when something caught his

eye.

A rusty old sedan was parked in a nearby alley. While it was hardly a surprise to

find a such a vehicle in this neighborhood, the driver had never seen this

particular rust bucket parked here before. He turned too say something too Romulus,

but the 'Vampire' lord had his cell phone pressed to his ear, and waved at the

driver too keep quiet.

The chauffeur shrugged, guessing that it was just an abandoned car anyway.

The two red robes had walked to the front entrance of the library with the key too

unlock the heavy chain that kept them sealed, only too find that the rusty lock and

chins had been broken, and splintered door's sagged inwards. The two red robes

looked inside, but saw only an inky darkness, aside from the thin sliver of early

morning light that spilled in through the open door.

They turned too look at Romulus, who simply waved them on from the back seat of the

Rolls.

"My lord, someone has broken into the Sanctuary."

Romulus rolled down his window,

"Its only a few teenage vandals or something!" he shouted, "Get in there and prepare

things for our 'guest'!"

The two red robes looked at each other nervously, and then disappeared into the

darkness on the other side of the door.

Inside the Rolls Royce, Romulus grew impatient as the phone he was calling continued

to ring.

Finally, someone answered.

"Temptress! Are you quite done with that foolish detective? I need you too…"

"Oh I'm sorry dear," a piping falsetto voice said from the other end of the line,

followed by a burst of gruff laughter,

"Sorry too spoil your morning buddy," the voice lost its high tone; now sounding

deep, menacing and decidedly male, "But ol' temptress is slightly tied up right now,

can I take a message?"

"Who is this?" Romulus demanded

"This is the person who's gonna shoot your girlfriend through the head if you if you

don't do exactly what I want." teh voice gloated.

"W-w-what make you think I'd deal for h-h-her?" Romulus stuttered.

"What makes you think I don't know who important she is too your operation?"

"I…don't know what your talking about…"

In the Vikingz warehouse, Angel grinned. he knew he had the half assed Dracula by

the balls, he shot a thumbs up at Smalls and Gothic, who listened too the

conversation form the dilapidated couch in the warehouse office. A bound and gagged

Temptress listened from the floor.

"Really?"

"Yes…I…" four gunshots echoed into the receiver, than the line went dead.

"What the fuck?" Angel demanded, looking at Temptresses' cell phone in surprise

"What's up chief?" Smalls asked.

"No idea…I heard some gunshots in the background, then the phone went dead."

Angel glared down at Temptress.

"If hubby doesn't call us back, it begs the question of what to do with you…"

Gothic and Smalls snickered.

Romulus had dropped the phone as gunshots echoed from the dark interior of the

'Sanctuary'. Fumbling too pick it up, he accidentally hit the end button, killing

the conversation with Angel.

"Hello?" he said, picking the phone up, "Are you there? Dammit!"

"Sir, I think we should get out of here…"

"Why? That was probably just my men."

Suddenly, a huge shaven headed man in a cut off denim jacket ran out of the

building, aiming a Colt 1911 automatic as he ran.

He pumped a single round through the side window, sending a bullet through the

drivers head.

Romulus ducked beneath the door facing the building and locked it.

Unfortunately, Romulus had forgotten too roll up the window.

The denim clad gunmen reached in and fired a shot into the vampire lord's head at

point blank range.

Leaning into the car, the gunmen checked for anyone else. Finding nothing living,

he leaned back out and turned too the abandoned building.

"Hey Gut! Get yer ass out here!"

A fat guy dressed almost identically as the shaved head ran outside. Both men had a

three piece patch on the back of their vests, the top rocker reading "PAGANS" in

blue old English letters, while the main patch was a sword brandishing demon perched

on a flaming horizon. The bottom rocker was simply a square patch with MC written on

it.

"Help me get these two fucks back inside!"

The two men hauled the corpses back into the dark building, and dumped them by a

staircase, where the sprawled body's of the two red robed guards already rested.

The shaved head wiped his pistol down and stuck it in the hand of one of the red

robes, while the fat one stuck a different pistol in the cold finger of the other

red robe.

"What do you want to do with the rat upstairs?"

"Leave him where he is."

The two headed for the door.

"We'll take the Rolls, strip it, and dump the parts, okay?"

"Sounds good."

Jumping into the expensive car, the fat one started the engine as shaved head hopped

in the back.

Neither bothered to check the trunk.

Dawn turned to afternoon, and night began to retake the city from daylight.

In the Vikingz warehouse, Angel slept on an armchair Tramp had salvaged from

somewhere, with Temptresses cell phone setting in his lap. Awakening suddenly, the

outlaw Gargoyle looked around blearily, before stumbling towards the warehouses

battered but functional bathroom. Angel went to the sink, splashed cold water on

his face too help wake himself up, then walked out of the bathroom and towards the

square of crates that served as a communal kitchen and dining table to the gathered

bikers.

Slapping ham and cheese on white bread, Angel made two massive sandwiches, which he

downed like a starving wolf. Reaching into a Styrofoam cooler, Angel pulled out a

soda, chugged it down, let out a self satisfied belch, and turned to walk back to

his chair.

Angel paused though. Then he turned, snatched an apple from the various foodstuffs

littered around the makeshift table, and walked towards the warehouse office.

Pushing open the broken door, Angel snorted. Inside, Gothic was lying across the

couch, fast asleep, while Temptress struggled furiously against her bonds.

"Going somewhere?" Angel asked her.

"Fuck you!"

"Nah, I'm cool…maybe later though."

Angel reached under his colors and pulled his trench knife. Walking behind

Temptress, Angel cut one of her hands free from her bonds, than dropped the apple in

front of her.

Temptress simply glared at it.

"Eat or don't lady. I really don't care." Angel turned to the couch and shook Gothic

awake.

"Huh…oh shit! Sorry chief!"

"Don't worry about it Gothic." Angel said, pointing to the door, "Go out and grad

some more shut eye…I'll watch el Loca."

As Gothic walked out the door, Angel sat and watched Temptress, who was beginning to

take cautious bites out of the apple she was eating.

"Why do you consort with these rabble?" the pale woman suddenly asked.

"What?"

"You're a Gargoyle…your kind are the true rulers of the night! How can you consort

with these…common brigands?"

Angel let out a low warning growl, but the warning went unheeded.

"You're a dark ruler of the underworld! And these peasants should be nothing to

you! What kind of weakling are you?"

Angel shot off the couch and grabbed the bound woman.

"Listen you little pale jackass…these 'peasants' are the only people on this god

damned planet who're worth a fucking thing!", Angels eyes glowed white, "The only

family I've ever had were these 'common brigands'. The bunch of lunatics who I got

hatched into were nothing, not lords, at least not of anything more than a rat hole

forest and a dead mountain in the middle of no where!" Angel grasped Temptresses'

face in his free hand, and satred into her eyes whcih were quickly filling with

fear, "The only 'kind' I've ever fucking had are the people who wear one of these…"

Angel snaked his tail up and tapped a diamond shaped blue patch with a green 1% on

it that decorated the upper left corner of his vest, "And of you disrespect them

again I'm gonna yank that expensive dentistry right out of your head…got it!?"

"Yes!" Temptress sobbed, "Yes I got it!", a clean New York accent replacing the

studiously cultured tone she used earlier.

Angel dropped the woman back too the floor,

"Your accents slipping." he said, and then sat back down on the couch.

The black Rolls Royce whipped into the garage, it tires squealing across the

pavement as the driver pulled into the open service bay door. The old door clanked

shut behind the black luxury car. The two Pagans got out,

"Gut, go through this thing and take out anything that ain't nailed down…I'm gonna

go call the guys."

"No problem."

The shaved headed Pagan disappeared into the garage buildings office, and Gut began

to rifle through the Rolls, tossing anything that wasn't built into the car out with

it.

A submachine gun…ammunition…a Glock 9mm…a brown leather shoulder holster…a set of

handcuffs in a brown leather case…a police badge…

Gut's search ended abruptly as he leapt out of the car and grabbed the badge case

off the ground.

"Oh shit…"

Gut looked from the badge too the trunk, a sinking suspicion carrying him towards

it…fumbling in the pocket of his jeans, Gut pulled out the key too the Rolls, put it

in the trunk lock and opened it. He looked in, than looked at the picture on the

Police ID next to the badge.

"OH SHIT!!!"

He slammed the trunk shut and ran into the office.

"Jimmy we got a big ass problem! There's a fuckin' cop in the trunk of that car!"

The Jimmy looked up from the answering machine he had been listening too.

"Is he dead?"

"No man! What the fuck are we gonna do!?"

Jimmy stormed into the garage, and popped the trunk of the Rolls.

Elisa gazed up at him, shouting behind the mass of duct tape over her mouth.

Jimmy cocked his head and looked closer and laughed.

"What's so damn funny about this?" Gut demanded.

"This ain't no big thing…"

"What?"

"The Vikingz are looking for this chick, we'll just call them and they can come get

her."

Elisa's eyes widened, but Jimmy slammed the trunk shut before she could protest.

On top of Goliaths tower that night, most of the clan awoke in a somber mood.

Goliath promptly leapt down to the courtyard, then stormed off into the castles main

hall, followed closely by a worried Angela.

"What's up with him?" Brooklyn asked Lexington.

"You don't know?" Lex shook his head in amazement, "Elisa went missing last night…"

"WHAT!?" Brooklyn exclaimed.

Lexington pointed to some numbers scrawled on Brooklyn's forearm,

"What the hell are those?"

"uhh, nothing. No idea how the got there. Listen I better get after Goliath and see

what's up, okay?"

Brooklyn leapt off the roof and glided down to the courtyards, leaving Lexington to

wonder why Brook had a phone number written on his forearm.

Moving as quickly as he could, Brooklyn caught up with Angela, who was watching as

her father strode purposely into Xanatos' office.

"What's going on, Angela?"

"Father is going to see if Xanatos has any news of Elisa."

"Oh."

Inside the dark office, Xanatos sat at his desk, his usually inscrutable expression

replaced by a look of haggard worry.

"I've checked all my contacts Goliath…nobody has any idea where Elisa is…"

Goliath was surprised by the genuine sounding concern in Xanatos' voice, "What of

the police?" the giant gargoyle asked.

Xanatos shook his head, and a deep silence settled across the room.

"I'll send my clan out, we'll check out this club…"

"The police beat you to it. Nothing was there except a pile of dead bodies."

"What?"

"There was some kind of gunfight there…the Vikingz seem to be the prime suspects."

Goliath growled, "Those thugs had better pray they didn't get Elisa killed…"

Suddenly, a cell phone began ring.

Goliath turned too see Owen Burnett, who had been standing statue like and silent in

a corner until than, reach under his suit and pull out his phone.

"Hello?...try too calm down Anderson…what do you mean?...what?" the sounds of a

small scuffle emanated from the phone, and a new voice suddenly emanated from the

phomes receiver.

"Listen up you pasty bastard, I need to talk too your boss…tell him

we're on our way up."

Goliath growled as he heard Angels cavalier voice, than turned to Xanatos.

"Surely you won't…"

Xanatos cut him off, "Send the elevator down, Owen." he ordered, than jumped from

his chair and stormed towards the door, leaving Goliath with little choice but to

follow.

Xanatos walked quickly through the hallways, until he reached the massive hall which

held the entrances to the castles two passenger elevators.

Goliath, Brooklyn and Angela had just caught up with the fast moving human, when the

right elevator let out a cheerful ding and the doors slid open.

The first thing out the doors was a biker with a wild, untamed beard and forearms

covered with a thick covering of hair, who began coolly eyeing the group of

Gargoyles an their human ally. Animal was followed by Tramp, moving with a cautious

step that was out of place with his beer barrel shaped body. Angel emerged next,

striding into the hall with an arrogant swagger, dragging along a black cloaked

woman with one hand.

"Well big'un…" Angel said, talking to Goliath, "I've got some good news for you, and

some even better news. This girl here…" he said, pointing at Temptress, "Is a part

of the crew who grabbed your girlfriend."

Angel shoved Temptress towards Brooklyn, who grabbed the cloaked woman and shot a

confused look at Goliath.

"Uhh…what the fuck am I supposed to do with her?" he asked.

Goliath was speechless for a moment, but than his features hardened,

"Keep an eye on her, and tell Lexington too call the police to come pick her up."

"Okay…"

As Brooklyn pushed Temptress in the general direction of the TV room where he

expected too find Lexington.

"Angela, go with him."

Angela looked at her father in surprise, than looked back at the Vikingz.

"But father…"

"Please my daughter, do not argue with me…"

Angela nodded in reluctant agreement, than followed after Brooklyn, sending a

suspicious look at the Vikingz over her shoulder.

"Careful, she bites!", Angel called after the Temptresses\\\' new warders, which

brought short barks of laughter from his two companions, "Anyway, now for the better

news…we've got your girlfriend."

"What?!?" goliath and Xanatos shouted at almost the same time, neither sure whether

to be happy or more worried than ever.

"Yeah…some of our buddies found her locked in the trunk of Rolls Royce, and gave us

a call." Seeing the worried looks on Xanatos' and Goliath's faces, Angel went on,

"Hey, she's fine! That's one tough lady, you know…"

Goliath let out a sigh of relief, but Xanatos was still skeptical,

"So tell me Angel," Xanatos remembered the biker's name from the conversation he'd

had with Hudson the night before, "if Elisa is in such good health, why isn't she

here?"

Angel looked at Xanatos as if he were a complete idiot.

"Because I wanted too be damn sure that you guys had my payment."

"What, you don't trust me ta keep me word lad?" Hudson asked, entering the hall from

a side door.

Angel shrugged, "Never can be too careful with people you don\\\'t know...\\\"

Goliath let out a low growl and advanced on Angel and his Vikingz, his eyes

guaranteeing a slow death if they didn't reveal the location of his love.

Angel stared back steadily, than reached into his back pocket and pulled out a cell

phone, quickly dialed a number, and then tossed the phone to the advancing

Goliath.

Startled, the gargoyle leader grabbed the phone out of midair.

"Listen." Angel told him.

After a few rings, a smooth, musical voice answered,

"Hello?"

"Elisa!" Goliath shouted in surprise,

"Goliath?" Elisa's voice sounded overjoyed, "Is that you big guy?"

"Yes! Where are you?"

"Central Park, near the baseball diamonds..."

"Are they holding you hostage? Did they hurt you?"

"Why would they? If it wasn't for them…" Elisa's voice trailed off "Goliath are you

there?"

But the lavender giant wasn't listening, he was running for the castles walls at

full speed, the cell phone gripped in his hand, completely forgotten.

As Xanatos and Hudson listened to the crash of doors as Goliath sped away, Angel

looked from one to the other,

"Pay me.", he proclaimed.

As Goliath glided at top speed through the clouds and towards Central Park, reaching

the huge expanse of greenery, he dove towards the handful of baseball diamonds that

took up one corner of the massive park.

Landing, he looked around desperately, until he spotted a raven haired woman

casually sitting on a park bench, talking too a huge biker who was leaning on his

chopper.

"Elisa!" the woman turned,

"Goliath!"

Elisa leapt from the park bench and ran to her enormous lover, who embraced her with

his huge arms and enfolded her with his wings.

"My Elisa…"

"Goliath…"

The two stood for a long moment, their embrace saying a good deal more than mere

words could ever hope too.

A deep roar distracted Goliath, who looked up to see that the huge biker had fired

up his motorcycle, and was slowing weaving his way back to the road.

Goliath caught Smalls' eye. The two locked gazes fro a long time, and than Goliath

mouthed two words-

"Thank you."

The biker shrugged, then gunned his chopper and headed for the road.


	8. Chapter 8

"Bullshit."

"Mr. Angel…the delay is quite reasonable," Owen Burnett stated flatly, "Two

hundred thousand dollars in cash is somewhat difficult too obtain at this

hour…"

The Vikingz' Gargoyle leader crossed his tattooed forearms,

"Makes sense…except I look at this place…" Angel waved too encompass the

expanse of Castle Wyvern, "And I get the feeling that the crafty rich

bastard who owns it just might have a little cash hidden away in it

somewhere."

Owen adjusted his glasses,

"Sir, I could not say anything about that one way or another."

"I could Owen…" David Xanatos said, as he emerged from a dark corridor and

walked into the Castles main hall, "I do keep a small stock of cash on

hand-for emergency use."

"I was not aware that you would wish to use it for this…transaction." Owen

bowed to the three bikers, "My humblest apologies."

Animal and Tramp both laughed , while Angel maintained a stony silence.

"How much do you have?" he demanded.

"More than enough to pay you in cash." Xanatos said, "But it will be some

time before I can get you the rest of your fee."

Angel shrugged.

"Whatever…just give me my money and we'll get the hell out of here."

Xanatos motioned to Owen, who walked out of the main hall and down a side

corridor.

Angel and his two Praetorians began to follow behind the majordomo, but

Xanatos stopped them,

"I can assure you that Owen can be trusted completely."

Angel laughed scornfully and continued to follow Owen down the stone

hallway.

"Says you."

Xanatos let out an annoyed huff before leaving the main hall and heading

towards the castles security room. Sitting in a leather chair in front of

the long banks of security monitors, Xanatos watched as Own and the three

bikers made their way to the guest bedroom where Xanatos kept part of his

hidden monetary assets. But before they could get there, they were going to

have to walk past the TV room…where the whole of the Manhattan clan,

excluding Goliath and Elisa, had gathered.

Angela and Broadway sat on a leather couch next to the door, and so they

were the first ones to hear the *click* of motorcycle boots on the stone

floor as the Vikingz walked down the corridor outside.

Angela stuck her head out the door and watched as the three bikers followed

Owen into a room down the hall.

"I wonder what their up to…" she wondered, as she stood up and walked out of

the room, with Broadway and Lexington following close behind.

The three gargoyles found that Tramp had posted himself at the door to the

room Owen had led the Vikingz to, and the short and hairy biker's eyes

widened in surprise when the three unfamiliar gargoyles headed down the hall

way towards him.

"Uhm…hey, how ya doin?" he asked.

"Quite well thank you…" Angela responded stiffly, "May I ask what it is that

you're doing in there?"

"uhm…the tall blond guy is getting our cash."

"Cash?" Lexington asked, "For what?"

Tramp looked down at the small web winged gargoyle,

"For getting that cop chick back to you guys. Price was two hundred g's."

Angela looked shocked. The biker spoke of her friend as nothing more than

the item in sale, which was, she realized, exactly how he thought of Elisa.

Angela had seen the anguish in her fathers face the night before, when Elisa

had gone missing. Now it seemed that Elisa had been saved, but was now in

the hands of these motorcycle riding brutes…

the thought filled her with far more dread than finding Elisa missing the

night before.

Suddenly the door behind Tramp flew open, and Angel walked out of the room,

carrying a trash bag slung over his shoulder, "All right…I've got the cash,

let's get going." he said.

"Hey!" Angela suddenly shouted.

The biker leader turned, "What?"

"Where's Elisa?"

"Beats me…" Angel shrugged and walked away.

"What?"

"Miss Angela…I've been remiss in not mentioning that Goliath has already

gone to pick Detective Maza up, since Angel has already informed us of her

location."

Angela's eyes widened in surprise, and she turned to look at the three

Vikingz, but found that the three had already disappeared around a corner.

In the sky between the castle and central park, a lone gargoyle was headed

home, a small figure curled in his massive arms.

"Elisa…"

"Yeah, big guy?"

"If I may ask…what happened?"

Elisa was silent for a long moment before beginning,

"Matt and I went to investigate that nightclub, where the Vikingz had been

spotted…these people in robes ambushed Matt and I…they had us out gunned,

okay?"

Goliath was relieved too find that Elisa seemed only to be touchy about the

sore spot in her pride being captured had created, instead of feeling

terrified from her ordeal.

"These punks chained us to a wall…then the head moron decided to separate

Matt and I…I fought back, knocked the crap out of a few of them too, before

this sneaky little bitch, snuck up behind me and knocked me out," Elisa

rubbed a dark purple bruise on her neck, "The next thing I know, I'm lying

in a trunk, which opens up, and I see this huge biker staring at me,"

"One of the Vikingz?"

"No, I don't think so; this guy had on different insignia than the Vikingz.

But after the big guy panicked, another biker opened the trunk and told the

other one that the Vikingz were looking for someone who looked a lot like

me," Elisa shivered "That scared me half to death…"

Goliath thought of the savage violence the Vikingz had inflicted on the

Quarrymen and even on Demona, and understood Elisa's fear.

"So the Vikingz were called after that?" Goliath asked.

Elisa nodded

"When the trunk popped open again and I saw that gargoyle and his four guys

standing there, I thought things had gone from bad to much, much, worse.

Then the gargoyle reaches in and picks me up out of the trunk and peals off

the tape from my mouth. He looked me dead in the eye, cocked his head, and

said: 'Your probably expecting us to gang rape the shit out of you or

something now, right?'," Elisa shuddered, "The thought had crossed my mind,

I admit, but before I could say anything, Angel said, 'Well, you ARE really

hot, and I could probably stand to get laid, but,' the sonofabitch went

quiet for a second, like he wanted to see if I would squirm or something,

'I'm tired, I haven't gotten a good nights sleep in days, and I just wanna

get this done and go home'."

"They didn't…harm you at all?"

Elisa shrugged, "No…all that happened after that was Angel handed me back my

gun…"

"What?"

"It surprised me too…anyway, they gave me my gun and Angel asked me go to

the Park, near the baseball diamonds and wait for you to come and get me…"

"Why didn't you just come straight back to the Eyrie?"

"Because you were going to pick me up from the park…"

"Elisa, I didn't know you had been freed until Angel and the Vikingz showed

up at the Eerie building and asked to be paid for your rescue…"

Elisa looked shocked, "That sneaky little mother fucker…"

"Indeed." Goliath growled in agreement.

"How could he…but…shit!"

Goliath snorted in amusement,

"That plan sounds like something Xanatos would come up with…"

"'Why hold someone prisoner when you can let them go free and still get what

you want?', oh it certainly does doesn't it?" Elisa snarled, than let out a

sigh a few seconds later, "Not much point getting angry about it is there?"

"I don't think so, my Elisa…"

"Did you see Angel when he was at the castle?"

"We met." Goliath said, than told Elisa of his short meeting with the trio

of Vikingz back at the castle.

"He seems a bit…" Goliath began.

"Cocky?"

"Yes…and arrogant, cold…"

"Calculating…and always seems to know what he's doing?"

"Exactly."

The two were silent, both watching as the Eyrie building loomed closer and

closer with each moment,

"Before we get home, we need to talk." Elisa suddenly said.

'Oh no…' Goliath thought, before asking,

"About what, my Elisa?"

"The Vikingz…especially Angel."

Goliath let out an involuntary sigh of relief.

"Certainly."

"Goliath, these bikers…aren't normal."

"How so?"

"Well…I've never actually MET any outlaw motorcycle gangs…but these guys

seem way too smart, way too efficient, and way too quick."

Goliath nodded in agreement, "I don't think even Tony Dracon would have

thought of a plan as calculating as Angel's." he said,

"Angel…" Elisa shook her head, "I've talked to him for a grand total of five

minutes and I don't know whether to hate him…or what…"

"I know what you mean…" Goliath thought back on his experiences with the

mid-sized gargoyle…Angel did not seem to be too wantonly cruel or thoroughly

evil, he was just…Angel. When he voiced that though aloud, Elisa nodded in

agreement;

"I don't know what's wrong with him, why he acts so different from an

average gargoyle…or if there really any thing wrong with him at all…but no

matter what, he's dangerous." she said.

Goliath had to agree with Elisa on that. Just because Angel and his

Vikingz' wrath had been falling on enemies of the Manhattan Clan lately,

that didn't mean that the bikers would not turn out to be a grave threat to

both the Clan and the city it protected.

Still deep in thought, Goliath glided down towards the Eyrie building,

"But what can we do?" Goliath asked, as he prepared to land atop the castle,

"We need to find out all we can about the Vikingz I guess…and then figure

out what to do from there."

Goliath was silent as he delicately landed on the castle walls and set Elisa

down,

"An excellent idea, my love…and also it seems all we can do, at least at the

moment."

Elisa nodded, "I think your right…" Elisa was cut off as Bronx dashed out

from a darkened tower and pounded towards her at full speed, and barking

madly.

Jumping onto his hind legs, the huge gargoyle beast lapped excitedly at

Elisa's face before the small human could push him away.

"Ok Bronx…it's good to see you too." She said, scratching Bronx's ears.

Wiping a bit of slobber of her face Elisa turned to Goliath;

"I guess we'd better go see the rest of the clan."

Goliath smiled and nodded,

"I suppose the Vikingz can wait, Elisa,"

Elisa laughed, "Yeah, not much use in obsessing over them is there?"

And, naturally that's the lead in for a Demona scene-

"Those filthy, disgusting, human SCUM!" a blue fist crashed into the oak

table, splintering it in half. It had been almost a week since her defeat at

the hands of the Vikingz, but it still enraged her that she had been

defeated so easily by a handful of motorcycle riding thugs. She quivered

with rage as she remembered the first confrontation, when she'd had the

gargoyle traitor on the ground for the killing stroke…and then the chain had

hit her head…then the swarm of bikers closed in…

she'd managed to hold her ground for a few moments, before a well aimed blow

from a blackjack dazed her long enough to let the bikers drag her to the

ground. After that, her only memory had been of a size twelve engineers

boot coming straight at her face.

Demona growled as she recalled what had happened after the savage beating.

She'd woken up in a dumpster, apparently where the Vikingz had deposited her

after they grew tired of the beating. Immortal or not, Demona had had to

spend the next half hour lying in that stinking trash heap, waiting for her

bones to mend and the bleeding to stop.

It wasn't the worse defeat she'd ever suffered, nor the most horrible

suffering she'd endured in her thousand year existence, but she was enraged

beyond reason anyway.

She'd grown used to battling Goliath, Macbeth, and others who seemed to

fight with a sense of 'fair play' and when she'd faced an enemy that fought

with little regard to the sensibilities her normal foes

shared…she'd been unprepared. Macbeth wouldn't have snuck up behind her and

cracked her in the head with a club…any more than the clan would drag her to

the ground and kick her into unconsciousness.

After getting out of the dumpster, her only thought had been to go home to

fetch the biggest weapon she could carry and seek her revenge. All that had

earned her was another defeat. Demona idly rubbed the place in her side

where one of the bikers had stuck a bowie knife during the brawl she'd had

in the bar…right before the gargoyle she'd left bleeding on the pavement

earlier had tossed her through a plate glass window.

Unarmed and outnumbered, Demona had fled.

Growling and snarling Demona continued her rage fueled destruction of the

study in her mansion. She'd have her revenge on these Vikingz.

"But where do I start?" she said aloud, her rage bleeding out and reason

returning.

Demona knew nothing about these bikers, and had no idea where to start. The

few disgusting drabbles she'd read in the newspapers the last few days about

the battle the Vikingz had with the Quarrymen had contained a great deal of

information about why bikers were the scum of the earth and the quarrymen

were the cities last hope…but no really pertinent information at all about

who the Vikingz were or where they came from.

Demona walked out of the smashed den and went looking for her cell phone.

She'd recently acquired a source inside the New York Police department, and

surely they had a file on these Vikingz.

Meanwhile, at a hospital in Queens, an angry looking doctor walked into a

small waiting room and pointed at a tall Latino woman.

"Your idiot friend is going to be fine." he proclaimed.

"What?" Constance asked, incredulous over the doctors demeanor.

"Sorry if I sound angry, but it's because I am.", the doctor glared, "Every

weekend I get a bunch of wannabe tough guys in here who go out and decide to

pick a fight with a bunch

Outlaws…and every god damn weekend I have to spend hours putting them back

together so they can try it again next weekend, hours I could be spending

doing REAL surgery."

"But…"

"Is this the part where you tell me that's not what happened?" the doctor

shook his head and laughed, "Because it would be hard to explain why your

friend has motorcycle boot imprints all over his chest…"

"But that's not HOW it happened!" the Quarrywoman shouted, "We were just

minding our own business when…"

"Lady the next non biker in here that got beaten by the Outlaws for no

reason will be the first. Anyway, Mr. Moron is ready to go, so get his ass

out of my hospital. And do try to keep him out for awhile."

"HEY! You get back here…"

The doctor turned around and glared again.

"You'll have to excuse my rush, but I have to go try to pull a bullet out of

a teenagers chest…goodbye." The doctor turned his farewell into a snarl and

stormed through a set of double doors.

Constance stood still, staring in disbelief. A receptionist looked out from

behind the glass window she sat behind.

"I wouldn't make too much of that, he's had a long night."

"I guess so."

The receptionist laughed, before looking at a log sheet behind her desk,

"It looks like your friend is down the hall in room 207…so if you could fill

out these forms as best you can, we can get him ready to leave."

"Already?"

"If the doctor said he was ready to be going home, than he is, dear." The

receptionist set a clip board with some forms on top of the counter in front

of her window.

An hour later Constance, Linda, Jerome, and a wheel chair bound Bob stood

before their leader.

"This is inexcusable!" ,Castaway shouted, "Your were ordered to go find a

few white trash filth and you come pack with one man missing and one

crippled!" The Quarrymen leader's voice reverberated across the blues

painted walls of his office, "YOU!" he pointed at Constance, "What excuse do

YOU have?!?"

"Uh…well.."

"That's what I thought!", Castaway screamed.

"SIR!" Jerome suddenly shouted.

Castaway slowly turned his glare on the short quarrymen,

"Yes, Mister Johnson?"

"We would have been fine if this idiot," Jerome pointed to Bob, "Didn't piss

off a bunch of bikers by being a racist ass son of a bitch."

Castaway turned to the heavily bandaged Quarrymen, "Is this true?"

"Well not exactly…" Bobs speech was slurred and slowed by a boot to the head

he had been given earlier by one of the Outlaws.

"I believe you are lying, Mister Warrenton. And since you seem to believe

that fighting your fellow humans to be so important as to risk the larger

fight against the monsters, I think its time you left our group…goodbye."

Castaway pushed a button his desk that brought two uniformed and hooded

Quarrymen into his office, "Escort our friend here off the premises if you

would. Call a cab to take him home if he wants one." he told the two

Quarrymen, who wheeled the still protesting racist out of Castaways office.

"HEY! LET GO OF…" Bobs shouts were cut off when the heavy steel doors closed

behind the guards.

"As for you three…" Castaway turned to the remaining plan clothed Quarrymen,

"Against my better judgment, I'll allow you to remain with us…now go."

The three Quarrymen found themselves moving for the door of Castaways office

as fast as they could for the second time in two days.

Down the hall Jerome turned to Linda,

"I guess we got lucky again."

The small woman hesitated before answering,

"Yeah…I guess so."

Constance knew why the other woman hesitated. Like her, Linda had joined

the Quarrymen because she was convinced that the Gargoyles were demons,

agents of the devil, and that they need to be cleansed from the earth. Then

came the terrifying night when the bikers had devastated her unit of

Quarrymen. The only thing that had saved her from those big, savage looking

men and their Gargoyle leader had been two other Gargoyles. She remembered

the casual, flippant way the Gargoyles had managed to talk the bikers out of

smashing her and Linda …and she realized just how much she owed them now

that she had seen what the Outlaws had left of Bob.

"I don't know how lucky we are.", She said, "Not anymore at least."

Constance didn't bother to explain her comment to either of her companions.

The next day, Officer Jeremy Miller found himself having a very bad time.

"I'm sorry Miss Destine, we do have a file but it's currently checked out…I

have no idea when it'll get back in…hey calm down, I'll get it to you as

soon as possible!"

The door to the filing office Jeremy worked at started to open,

"Uh, sorry Miss destine, but I have to go.", Jeremy quickly hung up the

phone as Elisa Maza walked through his door,

"Hey, Detective Maza! What can I do for you?"

"Hi Jeremy…I was just looking for a file on a motorcycle gang…"

'Please don't let it be THAT gang.' Jeremy thought, before asking,

"And which one are you looking for?"

"The Vikingz."

Jeremy turned white,

"Uh, well, sorry but someone just checked that one out…"

"Really? Who was it?"

"Umm…let me check." Jeremy rifled through the papers spread across his desk,

"I can't seem to find my log sheet…I tell you what, I can give you a call

when it gets back if you want."

Elisa looked annoyed,

"Is there anywhere else I can get a file on the Vikingz?" she asked.

"Well the FBI field office might have one…or maybe one of the other fed

agency's…but we only have one file in the NYPD."

"Thanks Jeremy…" Elisa said, walking out of the filing office.

"No problem detective, sorry I couldn't help you out."

After Elisa left the office, Jeremy let out a relieved sigh and sagged in

his office chair.

"What the fuck am I gonna do?" he said aloud.

Picking up the phone on his desk, Jeremy dialed Jon Castaways number.

The phone rang only once before the Quarrymen leader answered it.

"Mister Castaway, this is Jeremy…"

In the hall way outside the records office, Elisa stood with her ear pressed

to the door, listening to Jeremy's conversation,

"Sir, I'm going to need that file back as soon as possible.", Jeremy was

saying, "I've had two officers in here looking for it…"

Elisa stood up and headed back to her desk. When she'd walked into Jeremy's

office, she knew she'd heard him talking to Demona. And now it seemed that

he was also working with the Quarrymen.

Elisa let out a wordless snarl as she sat down at her desk.

"Whoa!", Morgan said as he walked by, "Long day, detective?".

"You could say that Morgan."

"Well, cheer up…shifts almost over!", The uniformed officer smiled, "Hey did

you hear the scuttlebutt?" he asked.

"About what?"

"Last night some nightclub in the 19th precinct got all shot up by a bunch

of biker gangers…three people got killed apparently."

"Yeah I heard about that." Elisa said.

"Did you hear why though?"

Elisa's eyes widened in surprise, "Uhh…no. No I didn't…"

"Apparently the bikers hit the place trying too rescue a couple cops…"

"Really?"

"Yeah! I talked to a friend of mine in homicide…apparently the people that

got killed were all armed, and they have a witness that claims the had seen

a couple cops walk into the club but they didn't come out, and he saw some

of the bikers carry out one of the cops after all the shooting stopped,"

Elisa visibly paled, "Uhm great I guess…any idea who the cops were?"

"No, they still trying to find out." Morgan shook his head, "If all that's

true though, its pretty messed up…first time I heard of outlaws sticking

their necks out for a cop!"

"Yeah…that would be weird.", As Morgan walked away, Elisa decided that this

was the worst day of she'd had in very long time.

Across town at the abandoned warehouse used by the Vikingz, the few bikers

who weren't fast asleep, recovering from a week of fighting and late night

parties, sat around a

rusty barrel the motorcycle club was using as a fire pit.

"Man that shit freaked me the hell out," Smalls was saying, "This big

freakin' purple gargoyle shows up to pick up the chick, and start up my bike

and head out, I turn around, and this guy's staring right at me! Than the

son of bitch says 'thank you'! That fucked me up!"

"Jesus, bro you are a pussy." Billy mocked from the cheap mattress he was

laying on.

"But why the fuck would he thank me, it was just business wasn't it?"

The rest of the bikers had no answer too that. They regarded saving the

policewoman as a simple transaction. A deal had been brokered, which the

Vikingz had held up their side of, and the other side had upheld theirs, and

the bikers payment had been forthcoming, which meant nobody needed to be

beaten or killed, and that was that.

"Good damn you guys are stupid," Psycho said as he walked over to the circle

of bikers, "Isn't it obvious?"

"What?"

"Jesus it fucking clear as day, the big guy was happy to get his girl back,

that's all."

Smalls cracked up at the thought of the petite police woman and the huge

gargoyle being together.

"What? Hey you ask me it's kind freaky, like here's this big gargoyle dude

that hooked up with some cop chick…it's like its fate or some shit…"

The bikers laughed harder.

"Alright Psycho…no more soap operas for you, I mean you are cut the fuck

OFF!"

"Hey, fuck you Billy!" Psycho shot back, and kicked the mattress the other

biker was sprawled out on. Billy shot to his feet and punched Psycho in the

stomach, and then the two laid into each other. The other Vikingz laughed

and cheered, finding the good natured punch up far more entertaining than

idle talk about other people's love lives.

After a few minutes the fight ended, Billy and Psycho returned to the

circle around the fire, and things continued on like nothing had happened.

At the Eyrie building, the clan sat silently on their tower, frozen in stone

until nightfall.

So Goliath was very surprised to find himself suddenly standing on thin air,

surrounded by a swirling green fog.

"Don't be alarmed Goliath…" a cool voice spoke from somewhere deep in the

green fog,

Goliath watched in surprise as Tatanya, Queen of the Fay, seemed to

materialize from the fog in front of Goliath

"I have much to tell you before tomorrow night…"


	9. Chapter 9

The Name "Hells Angels" and the Death Head insignia are the property of the

Hell's Angel's

Motorcycle Corpoartion, and are used without permission.

Authors note-You may wonder why I keep adding the above disclaimer everytime I

mention the Hells Angels or another real-life outlaw club. The reason is

simple-they've all got copyrights on their names and insignia, and I don't

want them to sue and/or beat the living crap out of me.

"Titania! What is this?!"

The green skinned Fay queen smiled, "Please be calm, Goliath…"

Titania waved at the swirling green mist, and Goliath found himself standing in a

gravel parking lot, in front of a bar with a cheap neon sign above the door

proclaiming it to be the 'El Adobe Tavern'

"We have much to see before tomorrow night."

Goliath opened his mouth to ask another question, but was rudely interrupted when a

body flew out from the cheap wild west imitation swinging doors of the El Adobe and

slid to a stop on the gravel outside.

"What the fuck did you say you little yippie queer?" a voice with demanded from

inside the bar. The doors swung back open and an adolescent gargoyle stormed out if

the bar, fetching another kick to the bleeding human.

"This is our bar you dumb fuck."

Another kick.

"You can say whatever the hell you want at your dorm over at Berkley…but around here

you use your fucking manners!" the gargoyle punctuated the sentence with a kick.

Goliath snapped out of his surprise and rushed forwards to pull the teenager back,

but found that the restraining hand he set on the gargoyles shoulder slid directly

through the it.

Goliath stood dumbfounded for a second.

"We aren't here in a physical sense Goliath," Titania explained, "We're completely

invisible too these people…"

Across the parking lot, a car door opened, and short, pudgy human with a chest

length beard and long hair stumbled out . When he looked up, he suddenly stopped and

stared directly at Titania and Goliath, and started to laugh.

"Hey, Angel! Man I'm so fucking loaded I'm seein' like, fucking big purple dudes and

blue chicks with pointy ears!"

The gargoyle looked up from the whimpering yuppie sprawled on the gravel,

"Damn Terry…you need to lay off the acid."

"Probably." Terry said, as he walked past Goliath and Titania and over to Angel,

"Nice ass on the blue chick though."

Titania reddened in embarrassment.

"In certain states of consciousness, humans can perceive the unseen…" she muttered.

Goliath stifled a laugh and turned to look at the young gargoyle and his drug fueled

friend.

Both were walking into the bar, and visible on the backs of the sleeveless denim

jackets they both wore was an identical insignia…a leering, winged skull in an

aviators helmet, below the name 'Hells Angels'.

"Titania…where are we…"

"The year is 1967…and that young gargoyle will grow to be either your clans worst

enemy or your greatest friend in the coming war…"

"War?"

"As I said Goliath…there is much to show you."

"Holy shit baby!" a voice boomed form the entrance to the El Adobe, as a Hells Angel

left the bar with a brown haired woman in tow, "I'm so messed up, I'm seeing a purple

dude with wings and a blue chick standing in the parking lot!"

If Tatania's and Goliath's exit from the El Adobe's parking lot seemed a bit hasty,

it was quite understandable.

The waking world, two days later.

"Hey Fur Ball!" Elisa shouted at her brother.

"Elisa!" Talon turned and embraced his sister, "What brings you down to the

dungeon?"

"Just checking in…" Elisa spotted a dark skinned gargoyle watching them from the

shadows, "Hey Delilah!"

The clone looked surprised for a second, than turned and ran down a side corridor.

Elisa sent her brother a puzzled look. Talon sadly shook his head and sighed.

"She's been like that a lot lately…she won't talk to anyone, won't go out on

patrol…she wouldn't even eat for awhile, but Maggie finally talked her into it."

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know one day she was fine, and the next…" Talon waved down the pitch black

tunnel Delilah had fled down.

"I guess she can join the club…" Elisa mused.

"Huh?"

"Goliath. For the last two days, he's been shutting himself up in the library at

the castle, and whenever I catch him outside…it's like he's distracted by something.

I don't know what to make of it."

"Oh great…it must be moody Gargoyle week or something…"

"Derek!"

"What?" Talon grinned, "Or maybe it's just like, the season for it or something…"

"That's not funny!"

"I guess not…anyway, do you have any good news?"

"Well…I guess you heard about the Vikingz…"

"Yeah. They sound like real lovable bunch…I've got my patrols on the look out for

'em"

"And did you hear that Beth is coming to visit?"

Talon groaned, "I said good news, Elisa, not tidings of disaster."

Elisa glowered at her brother, "Well, board up the windows, because she gets in

tonight."

Talon rolled his eyes.

"So besides Delilah, how are things going down here?"

"About as well as they can, I guess…the food you and mom donate helps out big time,

but things are still a little tight around here." Talon looked like he wanted to say

something else, but couldn't figure out how too.

"Something on your mind Derek?"

"Aw jesus…I never could hide anything for you…"

"Of course not, I'm your big sister!" Elisa proclaimed, doing her best to look

imperious and wise.

"Gimme a break…I might as well just say it, I guess. Xanatos has offered to help us

out with the shelter."

Elisa was silent for a long second,

"And what did you tell him?"

"I haven't told him anything yet…if it was just me and my clan I had to worry about

I'd tell him to shove his help up his ass…"

"But you've got the people down here to worry about."

"Exactly."

Elisa chewed her bottom lip as she thought about what to tell her brother. Her own

relationship with the billionaire was more of a forced cease fire than an alliance,

but even she had too admit that Xanatos was apparent steps towards recovery.

"Derek…I think that maybe you should agree…"

"What?"

"Like you said, it's not just you and yours you have to look out for."

"But…ah hell, I guess your right. I think I knew I should say yes already, but I

needed someone else to say it." Derek set ran a hand across his jaw, "But I still

think we should keep an eye on that guy."

"Always." Elisa agreed.

Talon and Elisa walked into the Labyrinth clans small living room and sat down on a

pair of folding chairs.

"So Beth gets in tonight, huh?"

"Yep…Mom and Dad are having dinner with her at the house."

"What about you?"

"Work." Elisa said, rolling her eyes.

"That sucks."

"Yeah…anyway, I need to drive my butt out to JFK and pick Beth up in a few hours…

in the mean time, you got anything that you need my help with around here?"

"Well maybe you could give me a hand with a list of supplies that we need."

"Sure thing Derek."

At the library at Castle Wyvern, Hudson was cautiously poking his head through the

heavy oak doors and peering inside the expansive room in search of Goliath.

"Goliath are ye in 'ere?"

Silence. Hudson opened the door and walked inside.

"Lad if ye stay in here all night ye…"

"I'm here Hudson." Goliath said from one of the huge leather couches in front of the

fireplace.

"Lad I know ye have been workin' something over for the past few days…and I wonderin

if its something I need ta concern meself with or if…"

"What do you think of the Biker?" Goliath suddenly asked.

"Do ye mean the lad who was in here the other night?"

Goliath nodded.

"Well now…" Hudson stroked his beard, "He's a quandary isn't he?"

"Yes. He's…a great quandary indeed."

"Well lad, the first time I saw him, I thought he was a bad joke is all…but than I

saw him work his way through those Quarrymen, and I saw him leading his lads into

that battle the other night…I tell ye, I've haven't seen a gargoyle that quick to

fight in a long time.

He seems brave enough too…if a little too mean for his own good"

"Do you think…do you think that he might be persuaded to join our clan?"

Hudson let out a surprised bark of laughter,

"Lad…yeh've got ta be jokin!" Hudson saw the somber expression on Goliaths face,

"I guess your not…nay lad, I doubt it. I canna say much about Angel for sure, but I

can tell ye this; he's nay more a gargoyle than wee Alexander."

When Goliath opened his mouth too protest Hudson waved him silent.

"I know lad…but there's who you are on the outside, and who you are on the

inside…and Angel stopped bein' a gargoyle on the inside a long time ago. And why do

you suddenly want this lad to join us?"

Goliath sighed, "I had a talk with an old…friend, I guess you might say. After what

she showed me…I think we're going to need all the help we can get in the coming

months."

Hudson raised a brow ridge, "And might ye be tellin' me why that is?"

"Later Hudson…when the whole clan has gathered."

"Suit yourself lad…" Hudson said, and turned to leave the library, looking down, he

read the title of the book Goliath had been reading.

It was "Hells Angels" by Hunter S. Thompson.

"What's this lad? Did ye run out of Shakespeare?" Hudson asked, pointing at the

book.

"Huh? Oh no…I was simply…confirming some details."

Hudson shook his head and left the library, wondering if goliath was really wrapped

in his own thoughts or merely losing his grip on sanity.

Demona was on her fifth Vodka, and was growing annoyed. The smudged, photocopied

pages of the file she had gone to some lengths too procure were proving to be an

indecipherable mess. Picking up another page, Demona read a few line before

throwing it down with a wordless snarl. What use did she have for a report about a

brawl in which a petty human criminal had been shot? Over a bag full of…oregano?

Demona picked the report back up and started reading again.

'The victim was shot during an altercation with several alleged members of a

previously unknown motorcycle gang, the Vikingz Motorcycle Club. During an exchange

in the backroom of a the Titty-a-go-go strip club', Demona rolled her eyes when she

read that, 'The victim purchased what he believed to be a large bag of Marijuana,

but quickly discerned that the substances in the plastic Zip-lock bag were in fact a

large amount of the herb Oregano intermixed with common grasses, weeds, and plant

buds. The victim claims to have confronted the gang members about this, at which

point the so-called Vikingz drew firearms on the victim, at which point the victim

drew his own weapon in self defense, and was shot in the leg and chest by the

Vikingz.' The report than stated that the victims statement was proved wrong by a

'preponderance of witness statements to the contrary, and that he had, in fact,

drawn his pistol first.' and that the 'victim' was being charged with possession of

firearm by a felon as well as a dozen other charges.

Demona had always found the double talk of human law enforcement quite funny.

Amusing story aside, the only other information she could glean from the report was

a hand written notation at the bottom of the last page. It stated that selling fake

drugs was an apparent common practice of the Vikingz, but that the constant con was

not to be taken to be taken to mean the gang never sold real drugs, in mass

quantities, to 'unnamed parties'. Wonderful. What this file seemed to be was a

simple statement that nobody knew a damn thing about these bikers, but they were

still really mean people and they needed a time out.

"I waited three days for THIS?" Demona asked out loud.

Snarling curse, Demona gathered up the scattered pages of the copy of the Vikingz

file and deposited them in the trash can by her liquor cabinet. She set her empty

glass on top of the heavy oak cabinet and reached in for the bottle of Stolichnaya.

When her fingers wrapped around the clear glass bottle, Demona paused.

Drowning her frustrations in alcohol would not help anything.

Sitting down and figuring out what to do next would.

Shutting the liquor cabinet with enough force to rattle the glass ware and bottles

inside, Demona strode over to her desk and sat down in the heavy leather chair

behind it.

Idly rapping her talons on top of her desk, Demona propped her feet up and began too

think. How to find out more about the Vikingz, she wondered. How to find out more

about a band of thugs the full resources of the worlds finest federal policing

agency's could unearth nothing more on then a few secondhand stories from criminal's

and a stereotypical list of suspected crimes.

What to do, what to do…

Demona suddenly sat straight up in her chair.

She had an idea.

"All right here's what's happening tonight…" Angel hopped up on a pile of crates and

addressed his Vikingz, "The cops haven't raided us and nobody's spotted any

surveillance…which probably means they don't have shit, but they could still be

looking for us. So if you go out on the town, watch yourself, don't cause any shit,

especially with the fucking citizens, got it?"

The Vikingz scattered around the warehouse shouted agreement. The club had been

hanging around the warehouse for the past two days, anxiously waiting to see if

their name would show up in connection too the attack on the club…but nothing had

come up, no sweeping raids and searches had been carried out in search of the big

bad bikers who had shot up the swanky vampire club, not even a simple 'bikers

suspected' leak to the media.

The general consensus among the bikers was that the cops hadn't found any witnesses

sober enough to give them a good description of the Vikingz' raiding party.

Angel hopped down from his makeshift podium and walked over to were Tramp, Det, and

Skagg were lazing around on dilapidated leather couch and end easy chair

"Hey…its the Chief!" Skagg proclaimed, regarding Angel with half closed eyes.

"Awesome…pull up a chair brother…" Tramp said, giggling.

Angel snorted and wheeled over an office chair that looked to be salvaged from a

junkyard.

Tucking his tail in the gap between the backrest and seat, Angel plopped down in

it.

"You wanna hit this bitch boss?" Det asked, offering Angel a thick blunt.

"Why not…" the gargoyle took the offered cannabis and sucked in a massive toke.

Savoring the moment, Angel leaned back in the chair, letting his wingtips drape onto

the floor. Finally exhaling, Angel passed the blunt back to Det.

"Shit", the gargoyle wheezed, "Powerful stuff."

"Yep." Tramp agreed.

"Hey Chief, how much cash did you an' the guys get for that cop chick?" Skagg asked

"Two hundred grand."

"Wowww…shit why didn't you guys bring me…I could'a used some'a that cash…"

Skagg fell into a gloomy silence and stared at the ceiling.

"Buzzkiller…" Det muttered, before sucking in another lungful off the blunt.

"So Chief, how long are we gonna stick around here?" Tramp asked, waving his arm at

the open warhouse doors and the Manhattan Skyline outside of them.

Feeling the effects of the pot, Angel took a moment to answer,

"huh…oh…fuck, well its September now…I guess we'll head out in November sometime, if

everything goes okay."

"Shit…why don't we just stay here all winter?" Det asked.

"Man, do you want too spend a winter in fuckin' New York?"

"Oh…right." Det shivered at the thought of spending almost a year snowbound

in the Northeast.

"Pass that thing, bro." Tramp told Det, who passed the blunt over to the beer barrel

shaped Viking. After a long toke, Tramp passed the blunt over to\\o Angel. After

taking a hit, the Vikingz president regarded the burning reefer in his talons

thoughtfully.

"I'm hungry…" Skagg suddenly announced, snapping out of his gloomy funk.

The four Vikingz fell silent after that, except for an occasional chuckle or caugh.

"Me too." Det said, breaking the silence.

"Yeah…"

Quiet again settled over the Vikingz.

"Chinese?" Angel asked.

"Chinese." Skagg agreed, getting uneasily too his feet.

"Sounds good…" Det said, as he slid off the couch and stood up.

Tramp waved his right hand dimissively,

"You guys have fun…I've got a bag of Lays stashed around here somewhere…I'll eat

those as soon as I get finished with this…" Tramp held the blunt covetously and took

another drag as the other three bikers wound their way out of the warehouse, Angel

paused to grab his battered Duster off a chair before walking out the doors and over

too an old Crown Victoria.

"So where do you guys want to go?" Det asked, getting behind the wheel.

Angel and Skagg exchanged a confused look.

"Uhhh…."

"Chinatown, I guess?" Angel offered.

"Yeah, that sounds good." Skagg agreed.

Det started the sedan and took off, speeding across the potholed roads around the

abandoned warehouse's towards the thriving streets of Brooklyn.

Stopping at a red light a dozen blocks away form the abandoned warehouse, Det

looked over at Angel.

"Uh, Chief…were IS Chinatown?"

An hour and three stops for directions later, the old Crown Vic finally pulled onto

the neon-lit streets of Chinatown.

"So where do you guys wanna eat?"

"Just pull in someplace, for fucks sake!" Angel barked.

Without further preamble, Det whipped the sedan into an open parking spot in front

of take out counter.

Piling out of the car, the three bikers engaged in brief shoving match to be the

first in line at the counter, which Angel quickly won. Leaning across the counter,

Angel drummed on the cheap Formica counter top,

"Yo! Anybody home?"

An aging Chinese woman walked out from behind a partition between the counter and

the kitchen. If she was the least bit nonplussed to see three outlaw bikers

suddenly lined up in front of her restaurant, she didn't show it, "What can I do for

you?"

"Hey…I'd like an order of General Tso's chicken, and an' order of fried rice…"

Angel said, sliding a fifty dollar bill across the counter, "That's to cover me and

those two hoods ack there."

Angel walked back over to the car and leaned against it while Det and Skagg ordered

their food. Walking back to the Crown Vic, Det stopped and pointed across the

street,

"Hey, check out that tank over there!"

Angel and Skagg looked across the street,

"What tank?" Angel asked.

"Not a real tank you fucking stoner…the CAR!"

"Oh…yeah it's pretty nice, what is that, a Fairlane?"

"Looks like it."

The three bikers sat on the car and idly chatted as they waited for the Chinese

woman to return with their food.

Across the street, Elisa Maza was sitting at the window table of a Chinese

restaurant, watching her sister greedily slurp up a bowel of Egg Drop soup.

"Beth I still don't understand why you wanted to eat before you got to moms house…"

Beth laughed and ceased her assault on the soup,

"Hey, if you like to eat Mom's rabbit food that's your business…" Beth made a sour

face, "Cus Cus and leaf vegetables,…blegh."

Elisa rolled her eyes.

The waiter came by and set a plate off egg rolls down on the table. Snagging one of

the crispy fried wraps, Elisa casually glanced out the window and took a bite,

"Whoa!" Elisa exclaimed as the piping hot egg roll singed her mouth. Breathing

heavily too cool the sizzling mouthful, Elisa desperately reached for her water

glass. After drinking half of the wonderfully cool water in the glass, Elisa sagged

down her chair in relief.

"Little hot there sis?" Beth said, laughing.

"Beth, why don't you go…"

"Hey! No need for that."

After demolishing her soup and the egg rolls, Beth let out a loud belch and stood

up.

"Ready to go?" she asked, throwing a twenty dollar bill on the table

"Yeah."

The sisters left the restaurant, and Elisa was just fitting her key in the drivers

side door when Beth interrupted,

"Uh sis…" the younger Maza sister pointed across the street,

"What…oh."

Angel and two other Vikingz were leaning against a car, eating greasy Chinese out of

cardboard cartons.

"Are those the bikers you were talking about earlier?" Beth asked, staring at the

three outlaws.

"Yes they are…" Elisa hissed, "Now get in the car and stop staring!"

As Beth slid into the passenger seat, Elisa pulled her communicator out from under

her jacket,

"I think I better call the guys…"

"You'd better hurry too, because we're about to have trouble."

Elisa looked in the rearview mirror and saw Angel and one of the other Vikingz

walking across the street and over to the Fairlane.

"Not good…" Elisa jammed the key in the ignition and started the car.

The Viking with Angel started too run over to the car.

Elisa threw the car in reverse, and pulled out onto the street, barely missing the

oncoming Viking, then threw the car in drive and sped away.

Behind the Fairlane, a confused Det turned too Angel,

"Jesus man, I'll I wanted was too say I liked the car…"

Angel eyed the people on the street, all of whom were staring at the bikers,

"I think we better head out."

"Yeah."

Det and Angel collected Skagg and the three hopped back into the Crown Victoria and

headed off, back towards the warehouse in Brooklyn.

Four blocks away, Elisa had her communicator to her face and was trying too tell

Brooklyn were she was, while Beth was idly staring out the side window and listening

to her sisters frustrated conversation.

"Look Brooklyn, just be on the lookout for a silver colored Crown Victoria pulling

out of Chinatown…yes, I know that's going to be impossible to track down, but try

anyway!"

Elisa sighed and sank down in the driver's seat.

"Hey Beth…"

"Yeah?"

"If I paid the fare, would you mind taking a cab to mom and dads?"

"Uh…no problem, I guess…just pop the trunk and let me get my bag."

After pulling to the side of the street and letting Beth out, Elisa joined the hunt

for the carload of Vikingz.

An hour and a half later, even she had too admit the cause was lost.

"Well, I guess they got past us." She said over the communicator.

"Aye, lass." Hudson's voice crackled over the speaker, "Looks like they've gone to

ground…"

"Sorry guys…and Brook, sorry I was snapping at you earlier."

"Hey, it's cool Elisa. I understand."

"Thanks Brook." Elisa was relieved that Brooklyn seemed too have lost all traces of

the moody testiness he had acquired after Broadway and Angela had fallen in love.

Thinking back on it, the red gargoyle seemed to have shed his angst the same night

he and Hudson had gone to the Vikingz party…

"Elisa?" Angela's voice crackled from the communicator and interrupted Elisa's chain

of thought, "Did father tell you that he wants to speak with all of us when we return

from patrol?"

"What? No…but I guess I'll be there." Elisa sighed and turned her car towards the

Eyrie building. It appeared that this night was just full of surprises.

On the other side of the Brooklyn Bridge, the three Vikingz had stopped their sedan

at a liquor store, and were now parked in a small patch of greenery on the water

front, passing around a bottle of Jim Beam.

"This is one weird town man…"

"You got that right, Det.", Angel said before taking a swig of whiskey before

tossing the bottle over to his comrade. After taking long drink, Det shook his head

and laughed.

"I mean a bunch of gargoyles dude…"

"Yeah…" Angel looked in the car and saw that Skagg was passed out in the backseat,

"This fucking lightweight is already out of it."

"He never could handle chiba very well…" Det hesitated for a second, "Uh, Chief?"

"What?"

"Uh…you know I've been wondering something for awhile…"

Angel looked over at Det and adjusted the sunglasses he was wearing, "And?"

"Uh…why did you…leave wherever it was you were from? Like where you were born and

grew up, and shit like that?"

"Because it sucked." Angel promptly answered, seeing that Det wanted more detail, he

continued, "Look, bro, I hated that place since the day I was born, I mean it was

fucked up; that's the only way to describe it. My parents, everybody up there, were

just…fucked up. Not like fucking mass murdering psycho fucked up, but everything they

do up there is plain fucking wrong, you know?"

"Yeah, I think I know what you're saying…" Det passed the bottle back to Angel, who

quickly emptied it and threw it into the bay.

"Enough of this shit…" Angel said, getting into the car, "Lets roll."

Det pulled the car back onto the pavement and drove back towards the brightly lit

streets, heading for home.

Beth stepped out of the cab and onto the sidewalk in front of her parent's house.

Shouldering her bag, Beth walked up the front steps with the enthusiasm of a death

row inmate heading for the gas chamber.

'Oh boy…they are gonna be FUMING at me…' Bet thought, of course, she could always

blame her late arrival on Elisa…

Taking a deep breath, Beth knocked on the front door.

A few seconds later, it flew open and she was greeted by a warm embrace from her

mother.

"Beth it so good to see you..." Diane Maza let go of her daughter and smiled, but

her smile faded when she saw the look on her face, "Beth, why do look so

surprised?"

"She's probably wondering why you aren't chewing her out…" Peter Maza said as he

walked up to hug his youngest daughter.

"Oh dear…Elisa called and said that you were going to be late because she had ended

up chasing some crooks and had to get you into a cab."

Peter sighed, "I certainly know how that works…"

Ushering Beth inside, Diane said;

"I hope you hungry dear, I made the most wonderful pork roast…"

Beth let out an anguished moan.

Back in Manhattan, the clan had gathered in the TV room to hear Goliath's

explanation,

and after Elisa walked in and sat down on the couch next to Angela, Goliath began.

"I'd like to apologize for my behavior for the past few days…I've had a lot to think

about, but that was no excuse for me too shut you out…" Goliath looked over at Elisa,

his eyes conveying a much deeper apology than the one he had just spoken. Elisa

smiled back at him and nodded. Goliath let out a relieved sigh before continuing,

"Two nights ago, Titania visited me while I was in stone sleep…"

The clan all looked shocked, and a low murmur of conversation quickly sprang up,

"Excuse me…" Goliath rumbled, and the talking quickly ended, "Thank you…Titania

showed me a great many things, about what amy or may not happened in the future, and

a few things from the past," Goliath sent another apologetic look at Elisa, "And I've

been unsure about whether or not to tell you of them…" Goliath shook his head "I

decided it would be best if I did."

Back at the Maza house hold, Beth had returned to her usual talkative self, and was

busy telling her parents about her trip,

"So anyway, me and Elisa are, uh driving here, when she see's these bikers she and

the gargs have had some run ins with, maybe she's told you about them?"

Peter shook his head, "Hasn't said anything to me, what about you Diane?"

"Not a word…"

"Oh, well Elisa told me a bit about them, they call themselves the Vikingz…and the

kicker is, their led by a gargoyle!"

Peter looked surprised, but Diane suddenly looked worried,

"Uhm…she didn't happen to tell you what this gargoyle looked like, did she?"

"No…but I saw him tonight!" Beth thought for a moment, "Lets see…he was tall, had

black hair, and his skin was kind of a tan color…"

"What was his name?"

"Elisa was calling him Angel, I think."

Diane Maze fell silent, tan suddenly shouted,

"Oh shit!"

Both Peter and Diane gaped at the normally soft spoken Diane as he suddenly sprang

off the couch,

"Where is Elisa now Beth?" Diane asked, as she grabbed her car keys off the kitchen

table and headed for the door

"Uh…Angela mentioned something about a meeting at the Eyrie building, I guess that's

where she is…"

"Honey what's…" Peter began, but was cut off when the door slammed shut.

"What gotten in to her?" Beth asked

Peter could only shrug.


	10. Chapter 10

"Unfortunately for the many, they find themselves frequently

surprised by the few."-Unknown

Oakland California, 1965

Two dockworkers were deep in the belly of a rusting freighter, heaving crates into

a cargo net and watching as they lifted out of the foul-smelling hold and into the

bright sunlight above. One of the dockworkers wiped sweat from his beard and looked

speculatively at huge pile of crates in the far corner of the hold,

"Oh man…that looks fun."

The other dockworker rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his slicked-back hair,

"Might as well tackle them next. You ready?"

"Yeah…"

The two walked over to the pile and looked at it, planning their attack.

"I'll circle around the back and see what that looks like." the bearded one said.

The other shrugged and waited for the net to be lowered back into the hold.

Pulling a pack of cigarettes out of the back pocket of his jeans, he shook a

cigarette out, and had just put it in his mouth and was getting ready to light it

when;

"Whoooaaaa! Charley! Man, you've got to come see this…"

Charley dropped the cigarette back in the pack and walked around to the other side

of the crates, and saw the bearded man standing next too…

"Terry, what the hell is that?"

The other dockworker shrugged,

"Some kind of far out statue…"

Charley had too agree…the statue was half of Terry's height, had a set of outspread

wings, its hands had four talons instead of fingers, and the stautue stood on high

arched, three toed feet.

"Hey, this things even got a tail!" Terry said, looking behind the statue.

Charley scratched his chin and evaluated the statue silently for a few seconds.

"You know where this thing would look good, Terry?"

The short man with the beard looked over at Charley,

"The clubhouse."

"Exactly."

"But how do we get this thing out of here, bro?"

Charley shrugged,

"Where there's a will…"

Four hours later, the two dockworkers were wrestling the statue out of the back of a

pick-up truck parked in front of dilapidated house on a rundown street.

"Were do you wanna dump this thing?"

"I dunno…lets just get the fucker inside first…"

Lifting from both sides, the two dock workers struggled across the overgrown front

lawn and onto the ramshackle porch of the house. The front door hung by a single

hinge and didn't have a handle, much less a lock, so the dockworker closest to it

shoved it ajar with his backside and kept going.

"This'll do." The bearded one said,

The two set the heavy statue down in the front room, just below a huge Nazi flag and

a shelf full of motorcycle trophies.

"Looks good…"

The two dockworkers went back out to the truck.

"Hey, I'm gonna head back home and pick my colors and my scoot…you gonna stick

around here Magoo?"

"Yeah, looks like it…later Terry."

"See ya."

Charley watched as the truck pulled around the corner before walking back into the

house,

where he found a huge man with greasy blonde hair inspecting the new decoration in

the front room.

"Hey Magoo, did you pick this thing up?" he asked.

"Yeah, man. Me an' Terry picked it up at work today…nice, ain't it?"

"Yeah…the things fuckin' creepy though!"

'Magoo' rolled his eyes, "Whatever…hey, I'm gonna go work on my bike, let me know if

anything goes down, okay?"

"Yeah…hey! Don't forget the club meeting tonight! You miss out again and we're

kickin' your ass out!"

"Yeah, yeah…" Tiny said the same thing to every club member, every week,

regardless.

Walking through the house and out the back door, Magoo walked over to a row of

gleaming chopped Harley-Davidsons. After wheeling a purple bike with raked front

forks out of the row, Magoo grabbed a set of wrenches out of a large shed and went

to work on his motorcycle.

Back in the front room, Tiny was still examining the statue when another man walked

through the still open front door, and stopped dead when he saw the statue.

"What the fuck is that?", he asked.

"I dunno, Tramp and Magoo picked it up from the docks."

Shaking his head, the new arrival walked over and looked closely at the statue.

Idly stroking his long goatee, he made a complete circle statue before saying;

"It looks good. Lets hope that whoever they stole this thing from doesn't come

looking for it.", pulling on a sleeveless denim jacket, the man with the goatee

walked out of the front room and into the kitchen.

As he left the room, the back of the jacket was illuminated by a ray of waning

sunlight;

on it a was an insignia; a pair of wings with red trim connected to a grinning skull

in an aviators helmet, along with two arched rockers. Both were white, the bottom one

reading 'Oakland' in red letters, the lettering on the top rocker was also red, but

instead of the name of a city, it identified the owners motorcycle club; Hells

Angels.

Out front of the house a long line of motorcycles slowly accumulated as the Oakland

Hells Angels straggled in for their weekly meeting.

The front room was packed with thirty unwashed, unshaven, fully patched Hells

Angels,

all of whom were looking expectantly at the small man with the goatee.

"Alright," the goateed man said, finally beginning the meeting, "We've waited long

enough…this weeks meeting is now started…" for the next hour, the man with the

goatee rambled on, explaining the plans for a rally the club was attending next week

in Bakersfield, who was up for membership in the club, where the cops seem to be

focusing their latest efforts to destroy the Hells Angels, what members needed to be

found and brought back into the fold before they had to be ejected from the club, and

other matters he deemed important enough to bring before his flock.

All the while he was talking, the sun had been slowly sinking, until only a few

small pinpoints of light rose over the horizon. This every day transition from day

to night was hardly noticed by the assembled bikers, that is, until the long shadows

sank over their newly decoration.

"So, anyway, that's about everyth…"

A loud cracking noise filled the room, which quickly built until the statue in the

corner suddenly erupted as the gargoyle awoke, sending bits of stone skin spraying

around the room, roaring at the night, his eyes flashing white.

As the gargoyle shook the last of his stone skin off, the bikers sat in shocked

silence, staring openmouthed at this winged creature suddenly dropped in their

midst.

After looking around at his new surroundings, the gargoyle returned the surprised

stare as he took in the room full of hairy, bearded, humans, all wearing filthy, oil

stained, cut off denim vests decorated with gleaming winged skulls, bizarre

numerals, and an array of World War Two vintage German insignia and medals.

The huge sergeant at arms was the first too break this sudden mutual silence, giving

a very abrupt and clear suggestion to his compatriots;

"RRRUUUUUUUUNNNNN!!!!!!!!"

The crowd of bikers suddenly made a break for the doors and windows.

Outside, a surprised group of prospects who had been tasked with watching the clubs

bikes and a crowd of wives and girlfriends were shocked to see the entire Oakland

chapter of the Hells Angels suddenly come running in terror from their own

clubhouse, yelling at the tops of their lungs.

"Jesus Christ, what the fuck…"

"Things gonna fuckin' eat us, man!"

"I'm gettin' the hell outta here!"

And so on.

As the mob slowly flowed towards the line of parked choppers, the President moved to

intercept it.

"Alright! CALM THE FUCK DOWN!"

As his chapter ground to a ragged halt just in front of the bikes, the president

spoke quickly;

"Alright, whatever that thing is, it's in OUR clubhouse, which means WE have to get

it out, unless, of course, someone wants to call the cops?"

The bikers were silent, except for a few nervous laughs from those who had managed

to gather their wits.

"First off, we need too send some guys back over there and see what that things up

too…" the president looked around, "Okay, Bobby, Johnny, Skip, you guys try and

sneak up too the front window, Tiny, you take Magoo, an' Cisco and circle around

back, got it?" The six bikers he had detailed off, slowly went too their new posts,

moving cautiously, as is human nature when in the presence of the unknown.

The president turned and looked at his remaining troops

"Everybody else, get ready…cuz we're goin' in."

"Hey, chief, in case you hadn't noticed, that thing is a fucking MONSTER.", one of

the bikers pointed out.

"You gonna turn pussy on me Del?" the president asked, fixing the dissenter with a

cold, tombstone stare.

"No way, chief…its just…fuck it."

The president looked over his chapter again, looking for anymore dissention. But

apparently the rest of them had had time enough to get over their initial terror and

were now ready to fight. A few Hells Angels unlimbered weaponry, a few pulling drive

chains they had been using for belts, others pulled knives and one produced a set of

brass knuckles, but the vast majority of the bikers had come to their weekly meeting

unarmed, and suddenly found themselves preparing to face god only knew what with

their bare hands.

"Okay…" the president looked over at the three men he had sent to scout out the

creatures location, and one pointed to the front room and nodded, "Lets get this

thing!!"

The mob of Hells Angels charged the building, pounding over the porch and through

the open front door, they found the gargoyle standing near where he had awoken,

examining the flag hung up on the wall.

"GET 'EM!" one of the bikers shouted, and ran at the startled gargoyle, who nimbly

stepped out of the way and drove the biker into the wall. The next attack came as a

Hells Angel tried to bring the chain he was wielding down on the gargoyles head, but

the gargoyle quickly snatched it away and smashed it across its former owner's

knees.

Another biker fell to a high kick to the chest, and fourth was felled by a blow from

the chain the gargoyle still wielded.

But the superior numbers of the Hells Angels quickly overwhelmed the lone gargoyle,

and he was driven to the ground, with three Hells Angels lying on his stomach, and

two others sitting on his limbs, while a single biker had grabbed a hold of the

gargoyles tail and now had it locked under his arm.

"Alright! We got the bastard!" One of the Hells angels shouted triumphantly.

Suddenly, a new voice broke into the animated congratulations that had started to

fly around the group of bikers.

"Would you fuckers GET THE HELL OFFA ME!" the struggling gargoyle yelled.

The bikers all froze in place.

"Holy shit, it can talk…" one murmured.

"Of course I can talk you jackass! Now let me the hell up!"

The six biker's who had a restrained the gargoyle looked over at the president, who

shook his head, "No way man…who knows what this thing can do."

"Well, could you at least have the mother fucker who has a hold of my tail to let

go?"

the president shrugged and waved off the Hells Angel holding the gargoyles tail.

"Thanks…"

The Hells Angels and their gargoyle captive fell silent for a moment, none of them

knowing quite what to do.

The Hells Angels looked at their leader expectantly,

"Shit…I dunno what to do! Stop starin' at me!"

"Why don't we kill it?" one of the bikers offered,

The president shrugged, "Maybe…nah, no reason to do that really."

"What? This thing looks like a demon or some shit!"

"An\' it wouldn't even be here if Tramp an' Magoo didn't steal that…statue."

"So what the hell ARE we gonna do?" Tiny asked, as he and the other two Hells

Angelsteh president had sent out back walked into the crowded front room thorough

the kitchen.

"I guess we let him up…wait! Tiny, Zorro, go upstairs and grab your guns." The two

bikers ran upstairs, and quickly returned, Tiny carrying an M-1 carbine and Zorro

carrying a sawn-off shotgun, "Okay…you two cover that thing while everybody else

gets off…"

The Hells Angels laying on the Gargoyle waited until Tiny and Zorro were standing

right over the gargoyle's head, pointing their guns at point blank range, before

quickly rolling off and scrambling to get as far away as possible.

"Can I stand up now?"

"Sure."

The gargoyle got slowly to his feet, the two bikers with guns keeping their weapons

pointed at his head the whole time.

"Now what?" the gargoyle asked.

"Uh, well…" The presidents face suddenly turned curious, "Hey man, who old are

you?"

"What? Oh… I'd guess I'd be about sixteen, in human terms…"

"Your only sixteen?" the president looked at the four Hells Angels the gargoyle had

leveled, three of them knocked unconscious while the fourth was writhing around in

pain on the floor, "Jesus Christ…"

Looking specutively at the gargoyle, the Hells Angels president asked another

question;

"You know anything about bikes?"

"What? You mean those idiotic looking contraptions you humans peddle around?"

"Guess that answers the question." the president sighed, "It would have been a

beautiful thing though…"

"What?"

"Nothin'…I guess you can fuck off if you want." the president waved at the door,

The gargoyle shrugged and headed out the door, the bikers quickly parting to let him

through. But the gargoyle suddenly stopped in the door way,

"Wait, by 'bikes' did you mean motorcycles?"

"Yep."

"Oh, well yeah, I mean I used to hang out with a guy who owned a…'Indian'?"

"Really?" the president looked at the gargoyle, interest sparking in his eyes, "You

ever ride any?"

"No, not really. Sounds fun though…anyway, I guess I'd better go before one of these

paranoid bastards shoots me."

The club president ran outside,

"Hey man hold on a sec…you got anywhere to go, or stay, or some shit like that?"

The gargoyle shrugged.

"Hey if you want to hang out around here for awhile, that'd be cool with us…"

A loud "WHAT!?" echoed from the house, where the bikers were nervously watching the

exchange between their chief and this unknown creature.

The biker president sent a silencing glare back at the house, before turning back to

the gargoyle, "What do ya' say man?"

"Sounds good, I guess…"

"Alright man, I'm gonna go inside and make sure it's cool with the guys…" the tone

of the presidents voice suggested he already knew the answer.

"Wait, wait, hold on a minute Goliath…" Elisa suddenly broke into Goliaths story,

"You mean too tell me, that Angel was getting into the Hells Angels when he was only

twelve?" Elisa shook her head, "He looks younger than you, Golaith! Even if he's

aging at half the rate of humans, that doesn't make sense!"

Goliath could only nod in agreement,

"I know, Elisa, but I saw this with my own eyes…I'm still not sure what happened too

Angel too slow his aging, but…"

"It's okay, I guess." Elisa said, "Its not like this story isn't already weird

enough."

Three months after his dramatic entry, the teenage gargoyle was still hanging around

the ramshackle Hells Angels Clubhouse, and, for whatever reason, he and the grimy

outlaws had gelled spectacularly.

"Hey Kid, hand me that one-eighth, will ya?"

"Gimme a sec…" the gargoyle gave one final tug to a bolt he had been threading back

onto the bike he was working on, "There."

He tossed the wrench over to Tiny, who was working on his own bike in the shed

behind the clubhouse.

"Kid, you ain't never gonna get that fuckin' bike running!"

The gargoyle snorted in amusement and affectionately patted the rusting metal of the

bikes gas tank.

"That's what you said about Magoo's bike."

"Yeah…well…" The huge biker had nothing too say about that. The week after he had

shown up, the gargoyle had single handedly brought life back to a machine its owner

had given up for dead. The Angels, each an accomplished mechanic in his own right,

were shocked when they found out a teenager with no experience had succeeded were

their best efforts had failed.

"The kids got an angel's touch, man." Cisco had said, as he listened in awe to the

roar of the newly revived chopper that Magoo had eagerly reclaimed from its former

final resting place in the shed.

After that, the 'Kid', as he had been dubbed by the bikers, went to work on the

rusting hulk of a 40's vintage Harley-Davidson knucklehead that had been sitting in

one corner of the garage as for as long as anyone could remember. Most of the

bikers considered the Knucklehead to be a lost cause, but a few stopped by to help

the young gargoyle, finding new parts to replace the ones missing from the bike, and

providing advice on the few things the gargoyle hadn't been able to figure out for

himself.

After a month of work, the bike was now complete, and Tiny watched in anticipation

as the 'Kid' mounted the bike, and got it ready to start. After pouring in some gas

from a can kept in the shed, the Kid mounted his rusty metal steed, and kicked hard

on the starter pedal.

The bike immediately roared too life.

"Holy crap…" Tiny murmured, as the gargoyle gunned the engine, the exhaust roaring

through the set of up-turned straight pipes one on the Hells Angels had donated too

replace the bike's old muffler.

"Guess it runs\", the gargoyle announced, as he cut off the engine and dismounted

the bike.

"Yeah…now all you need to do is learn how too ride the damn thing." Tiny pointed

out.

The Kid looked crestfallen for a second, realizing he might have wasted a months

time on something he really knew nothing about. But a new look of determination

quickly replaced the his disappointment. He looked over at Tiny,

"Okay, one gear down, four up right?"

"Yeah…"

The gargoyle promptly kicked his bike back to life, dropped down on the clutch, and

roared out of the open back door of the shed.

The bike sputtered and growled as Kid drove it slowly and unsteadily down the alley

behind the clubhouse, grinding gears and nearly stalling the bike. Finally reaching

the street, the gargoyle put the bike in high gear, and took off into the East bay

night.

Roaring through the nearly deserted streets of Oakland, he led a zig-zag course

around town, learning the ropes of riding a bike, blowing through dozens of red

light's and dodging cars in both lanes of traffic, the Gargoyle suddenly found

himself having the time of his life.

An hour later, he managed to find his way back to the Hells Angels clubhouse, where

he parked his bike next to three gleaming, chromed choppers that were parked

outside. Three Hells Angels sitting on the porch watched in astonishment as the he

turned off his bike and dismounted.

"Holy shit…" Cisco said as he saw the gargoyle park his mismatched bike next to his

chopper, "He got that thing too run? Man, he really does have an Angels touch…"

"How the hell did the cops not pick him up?" Del asked, "I mean he's well…you

know."

Cisco could only shrug, but the Hells Angels president sent a speculative look at

the gargoyle swaggering across the lawn. The gargoyle had long since discarded the

ragged clothing he had been wearing the night he and the bikers had had their first

introduction, and now wore a black leather jacket he had dug out of closet and cut

two long holes in the back of to fit his wings through, along with a pair of

oil-stained blue jeans and a white t-shirt. As well as his new clothes, the

gargoyle's hair had grown out, and the greasy black locks now reached down past his

shoulders.

Except for the jacket, the gargoyle looked identical to any one of the hundreds of

outlaw bikers around the bay. It was odd that no cops had yanked the gargoyle off

his bike, at the very least for daring to ride a motorcycle in these days of

concerted harassment, but the gargoyle did blend in well dressed in the same grubby

uniform as his new friends. It seemed the half-formed plan the president had

hatched was working out perfectly…

"Hey, Angel!" Cisco suddenly yelled, "How'd you get that rust bucket piece of shit

too run?"

"Angel?" the president asked, turning to look at the paunchy Mexican,

"Hey, it fits!" Cisco, said, defending his new nickname for the gargoyle.

"Well…yeah, I guess it does…"

"Why the hell did you just call me Angel?", the gargoyle asked as he hopped up onto

the porch.

"Because that's your new nickname...love it or leave it."

The newly re-christened gargoyle rolled his eyes.

"Hey man, now that you got that thing running, you gonna finish chopping it?" Del

asked

Angel shrugged before answering, "Hey, I'd love to, but that costs money…which I

don't have."

The three bikers had too agree with that. Since he had arrived, the gargoyle had

been living off the largesse of the Hells Angels, which many were growing tired of

giving.

"Hey man, why don't you just head across town and roll a couple pimps or

something?"

the president suggested.

"What's a pimp?" Angel asked.

Cisco and Del both broke into fits of raucous laughter while the president could

only shake his head. The gargoyle fit in so well with the Hells Angels it was easy

too forget how foreign their two worlds had really been.

"I tell you what, head out across the bay, than another five miles north, and when

you find a guy in a purple suit smacking around a chick…you've found a pimp." the

president explained.

"Okay…" Angel considered for a moment. The option of heading east and beating up

one of these 'pimps' for his money seemed risky, not the least because he wasn't

familiar enough with the area too ensure he could get back too the relative safety

of the clubhouse before dawn; his own exploration forays had never been long enough

to bring him too the territory of these 'pimps'. But weighing against the risk were

the gains; he would be able too help pay his own way, at least for awhile, and so

would be able to stop living off

the biker's charity, which embarrassed the usually self sufficient gargoyle, and

above all was the delicious possibility of being able too fully chop his bike,

complete with all the modifications he saw on the Harleys parked in front of the

clubhouse night after night.

Of course he'd have too figure out how too get the bike into a machine shop too work

on it, but he could worry about that later.

"Yeah, I guess that sounds like an idea." Angel decided before digging his talons

into the side of the house and climbing up the crumbling brick wall and onto the

roof.

Spreading his wings, Angel caught an air current and headed north.

"Man, no matter how many times I see him do that, it still looks awesome." Cisco

said, as he watched the gargoyle glide away.

"Hey Sonny…" Del said, talking to the Hells Angels president, "When're you gonna do

it?"

"We'll see how he does tonight…if the fucks over in the north bay handle him, I

guess we just kick him out. But if everything goes the way I think it will, we do

it tomorrow night."

"Cool."

Slicing through the air a few miles away, Angel was looking down at the dark waters

of San Francisco Bay, headed towards the City by the Bay looking to make himself

some easy money. He didn't know how tough these 'pimp' types would be, but he

doubted they could stand up to a gargoyle very long. Gliding in off the bay and over

the streets of San Francisco, Angel began to search for his quarry, dropping lower to

get a closer view of the mobs of people and cars below. Gliding over golden gate

park, Angel saw a sprawling mass of tents and bonfires, heard the strains of a few

folk songs, and caught the now familiar odor of burning hash, which after a solid

month with the most flagrant drug users in California, the gargoyle had grown

accustomed too. Flying over this vast expanse of people, Angel suddenly found

himself in squalid, filthy ghetto, outlined in red neon and lit by run-down theaters

with brightly signs marked with three black X's.

Angel didn't know it, but he was now entering the Tenderloin District.

A few blocks into the District, Angel spotted a likely candidate.

Swooping down to a building, angel landed on the roof and looked over the side to

get a closer look at a man in a purple suit he had just seen ducking into an alley.

Peering into the dim alley, he spotted the man again. He had shoved a short black

woman in a miniskirt, rolled up blouse and open toed stilettos up against a wall and

had a knife shoved against her throat.

"Bitch what'choo mean you ain't got my money?!"

"Johnny, please… I ain't had no tricks tonight, honest!"

Angel's eyes hardedned. This idiot was dressed like a clown, and was abusing a

woman.

Two for two on Sonny's description.

Spreading his wings to slow his fall, Angel leapt off the roof and landed almost

soundlessly on the cracked concrete surface of the alley below.

"Johnny a swear to god I'll get 'yo money by next week…"

"Too late ho'…I had enough of yer shit."

The pimp started to dig his knife into the woman's throat, when he was suddenly

yanked backwards and tossed face first into a wall.

"Fucking pansy." Angel sneered, before walking over and delivering a hard kick to

the back of the pimps head. Satisfied the parasite wouldn't be standing up for good

long time, Angel crouched and pulled the knife still clutched in his hand away. On

close examination the knife proved to be an expensive Italian switch blade model, so

Angel dropped it in one of his jacket pockets.

Rifling the pockets of the pimps jacket, he came up with a set of brass knuckles, a

pack of cigarettes, and gold plated Zippo lighter with a silver skull on one side.

Pocketing these items, Angel then pulled the pimps jacket open, revealing a leather

shoulder holster with a nickel plated colt 1911 with pearl grips holstered in it.

"Oooo…fucking groovy." Angel said, as he tore the pimps jacket to shreds and yanked

the shoulder rig off. Pulling the weapon out of its holster, Angel pointed it at the

wall and sighted down the barrel before setting both the weapon and the shoulder

holster off too one side. After going through the pimp's trouser pockets, Angel

came up with a wad of cash and a few packets of white powder.

He didn't know what it was, but if the pimp had it in his pockets, he figured it

might be worth something. He could always ask one of the Angels when he got back

too the clubhouse. After yanking off all seven of the rings the pimp was wearing, as

well taking the gold chains around his neck, Angel deposited his loot in a paper bag

he found sticking out of a nearby trash can. As he started too climb back out of the

alley, he looked over too find that the woman the pimp had been threatening was still

there, frozen in place and staring at him.

The two locked eyes for a moment. Then Angel let out a loud snarl.

The woman's eyes widened, before she screamed and ran away, her heels clicking

across the pavement.

Angel laughed and continued his climb to the buildings roof.

Just after two a.m., Angel was landing on top of the Hells Angels Clubhouse back in

Oakland, laden with his spoil's. He'd mugged two more pimps after the first,

netting himself more money and jewelry, a chrome plated Saturday night special,

another switchblade, and a small bottle of red pills, the same kind of pills he'd

seen the angels taking. He thought they were called reds. Like the white powder he'd

nabbed, he figured that they might be worth some money.

Jumping into a second story bedroom through a broken window, Angel nonchalantly

walked past the bed, where four Hells Angels were gang banging some woman Angel had

never seen, and judging by what was happening to her right now, was unlikely too

ever see again.

Kicking open the bedroom door, Angel walked down a graffiti-covered hall way and

down the stairway to the front room. A few Hells Angels were scattered around,

passing around a joint. Terry the Tramp called out a mellow greeting form one end

of the room, as did a writer who had taken too following the outlaws around in the

last few weeks.

The rest of the Hells Angels in the room were to far gone to notice the arrival of a

Greek god, much less a lone gargoyle.

Walking past a circle of Hells Angels in the kitchen who were eagerly demolishing a

case of beer, angel walked over too the shed, where Skip and the Hells Angels

president were working on their bikes.

"Well, he ain't dead!" the president announced when Nagel swaggered into the shed.

"Hey Sonny…you will not believe how much crap I picked up tonight!"

Angel dumped the paper bag he was carrying his loot in onto the dirt floor of the

shed.

Skips eyes widened when he watched the pile of stolen goods accumulate.

"Jesus Angel," Skip was careful too use the gargoyles new nickname, "Did you roll

every pimp in Frisco?"

Angel shrugged, "I don't know…maybe?"

Skip laughed and went back too working on his chopper.

"That's a pretty good haul, Angel…" the presidentsaid, Picking up a mass of gold

chains, "What're you gonna do with it?"

Angel suddenly looked stunned, "Well I…what would you do, Sonny?"

"If I were you, I'd hang on to them guns and the switchbladea…and sell the rest."

"Sounds good…hey, that reminds me!" Angel pulled the packets of white powder and the

bottle of pills out of his pockets, "Are these worth any money?"

"Holy shit…" Sonny held out his hand, and Angel dropped the drugs on it. After

flipping through the for a few seconds, Sonny looked up at Angel, "Man, you've got like, two hundred

dollars worth of smack here!"

"You want to buy it?" Angel asked,

"Fuck…hold on a sec…", Sonny dug into his pockets and pulled out a few wadded up

twenty dollar bills, "Looks like I can buy half now…" he handed Angel a hundred

dollars, and the gargoyle handed over half of the Heroin, "And I'll pick up the rest

later. Now, what're you gonna do with that jewelry?"

Angel shrugged, "I don't think I can sell it myself…"

"There places I can take it…I'll split the profits with you."

"Nah. Just sell that shit and use the money for the club…consider it back rent for

the time I've been living off you."

The president clapped Angel on the shoulder, "That's a righteous move, brother."

Angel was slightly taken aback when Sonny called him 'brother'. He had long ago

noticed the Hells Angels attached a great deal of significance too the word, but the

purpose for this was still unclear. Oh well.

"And I'm keeping the cash, of course," Angel continued, "I've got about two grand, I

think…" Skip and Sonny's head whipped around at that, "Is that enough to get started

on my chopper?"

Sonny laughed, "Angel, that's enough to BUILD the fucker."

"Really?" Angel sat down on the hard packed dirt floor, "That's…wow." To him, the

lofty ambition of a chopped Harley Davidson was a dream he had had since first

seeing the line of sleek machines parked in front of the Hells Angels clubhouse. And

now, it was in his grasp, and all it had required was hospitalizing a few people.

It was amazing how easy things could turn out to be.

"So whatta ya want to do?" Skip asked Angel,

"Huh?"

"Like, how do you want yer bike chopped? High bars, drag bars, raked front or not…"

"Oh shit, yeah…"

Angel sat with the two bikers for the next few hours, discussing how he wanted his

bike done up. As the night wore on, Skip and Sonny left, heading home. Angel drifted

inside and talked too Magoo for awhile, until the tall biker passed out after taking

too many reds.

As dawn approached, Angel crouched in a corner of the front room, and as the sun

slowly crept over the Horizon, Angel suddenly realized he had left his hard stolen

goods laying on the floor of the work shed. He realized too late, and the sun froze

his panicked expression on his face.

"Hold on a wee bit there lad…" Hudson interrupted Goliaths story, "Might this

'Sonny' fellow have the last name of 'Barger'?"

Goliath looked surprised, "Yes…"

"Well now…the young lad has friends at the very top, doesn't he?" Hudson rumbled.

"Who's this…Sonny Barger supposed to be anyway?" Angela asked,

"He's the leader of the Hells Angels…" Elisa explained, "If it wasn't for him, the

Hells Angels would have just died out a long time ago, instead of turning into one

of the most dangerous groups of people on the planet." by he tone, it was easy to

tell that Elisa didn't have a whole lot of fondness for this Barger character or his

organization. Also obvious was the fact that, judging by the glare he sent Elisa's

way, Brooklyn didn't agree with that assessment. but the red hued gargoyle kept

silent, and Goliath continued his story

The next night, Angel awoke still in a panic, and he ran for the back door the

second he could move, still shedding bits of stone skin through the clubhouse he ore

through it and towards the shed.

When he got there, he found that his pile of goods were gone, a chopped Harley he

had never seen before sitting where he had left them.

Cursing loudly, Angel looked around, hoping someone had just moved his stuff, but

found nothing until he looked on the work bench. The forty-five and shoulder holster

were sitting there, along with the revolver and the other weapons he had stolen. But

all Angel could find remaining of his cash was the hundred dollars Sonny had paid him

for the drugs.

"Shit…" Angel hissed,

"Hey, Angel, man, how do you like your new bike?"

Angel whirled and saw Sonny, Skip, Cisco and Tiny standing in the open doors of the

shed.

"My new…"

Cisco pointed to the gleaming chopper parked in the shed.

Angel gaped, mouth hanging open as he stared at the bike, seeing it clearly for the

first time. The engine, frame, and pipes were the same ones he had been working on

for so long…but everything else was new. Shoulder height handle bars had been

added, along with a smaller gas tank stripped off an old Mustang minibike. The front

fender and brakes were gone, and the forks had been raked ever so slightly, to get

the bike lower to the ground. the back fender had been replaced with one from a 30's

era sedan, which snugly over the fat back wheel. Anything on the bike that couldn\'t

be chromed had been painted a bright candy apple red.

"Holy god…" Angel muttered reverently, as he walked over to run a taloned hand down

his newly chopped Harley. Sitting on the skinny leather seat, Angel leaned back on

the dagger shaped sissy bar and smiled.

"Hey, If you can tear yourself away for a second and come inside we got another

surprise for ya…" Sonny said, as he and the other Hells Angels walked back towards

the clubhouse. After a few minutes of sitting on his chopper, Angel reluctantly

followed.

Walking through the house and into the front room, Angel found that a good half of

the Oakland Hells Angels were arrayed around the front room, waiting for the

gargoyles arrival.

"Alright Angel…" Sonny said, from a beat up office chair he was sitting on, like a

king holding on his throne, "You've been hanging out with us for a long time now,"

for a Hells Angel in the sixties, a month could be a lifetime, "And we dig you.

You're us, brother; you don't take shit and you know how to survive…" the Hells

Angel leader reached behind him, and Tiny handed him a cut off denim vest, "I want

to sponser you man…I want you to prospect for the Hells Angels." Sonny offered Angel

the cut off denim vest, and Angel saw that it didn't have a top rocker or a Hells

Angels insignia;

only a bottom rocker with 'Oakland' on it, and the Square white patch with the

acronym for motorcycle club, MC, in red. These were prospect colors; to be worn

until the far off day when a prospective member is decided fit to upgrade too the

full patch. but besides that Angel saw something else; a lure. It was obvious now,

at least too someone wide a suspicious nature like Angel's, why Sonny had wanted him

too stick around. He'd wanted the gargoyle too become a member of his club. After

all, the use's of having an incredible strong, terrifying gargoyle around would be

glaringly obvious too a shrewd man like Sonny Barger. But in the month he'd been

there, Angel had grown too idolize these dregs of humanity. The filthy, violent,

Hells Angels embodied the ideal life for the rebellious young gargoyle; they refused

to obey any rules, including the ones they set themselves, they fought at the drop of

a hat, were more interested in the next minute than the next year, and none of them

gave a damn about what society expected of them. They were true outcast's and

reveled in it.

By whatever stroke of fate, Angel had found his niche. He reached out to take the

jacket. After all, if he decided he didn't like being an outlaw biker, he could

always do something different, right?

'Bullshit.' a tiny voice said in the back of his mind.

But before the voice could say anything else, angel was pulling on the vest, which

one of the outlaws had thoughtfully cut to allow it to fit over his wings. As soon

as he finished putting the vest on, the Angels fell on him.

Spraying Angel with the contents of a can of Budweiser, Terry and Skip ran over too

offer Angel their congratulations in the form of bone crunching bear hugs. Sonny took

a more direct approach, cracking open a can of motor oil sitting next to his chair

and pouring the contents over Angel's head.

"Alight bro…" the infamous Hells Angel leader said, rubbing the oil into Angels

colors, "Now you've got too earn the right."


	11. Chapter 11

Oakland California, Early 1966

A long row of chopped Harley Davidson's were line up in front of bar, their acres of

chromed parts gleaming under a the harsh electric lights of the city. The small

fleet of chopper represented the very life of many of their riders, who spent nearly

every cent they had customizing their bikes to suit their own personalities. Left

unguarded, these bikes could present a tempting target too any pranksters viciously

motivated enough too attack them…like the two teenagers who were nervously

approaching the line right now.

"Come on John…" the larger one hissed.

"Man, I don't know about this!" the other whispered, sending a nervous look from the

bar too the gas can he was carrying, "If they catch us…"

"Those losers are all so fucking stoned and drunk by now, they couldn't even stand

up! No way can they stop us!"

"Okay…" the nervous one started too unscrew the cap of the gas can, "Why do you want

to set their bikes on fire again?"

"Are you kiddin' fool? We Put one over on the Angels, every kid in school's gonna

talk about it!"

"Right…"

"Now hold on a 'sec…lemme get my lighter." the tall one reached for his lighter,

looking down as he fished around his pocket for his zippo. In the brief second of

inattention, he felt a sudden breeze whip across his face, "What the fuck…" the teen

looked up, and found that his accomplice was gone.

"John?" the teen frantically looked around, but his search was interrupted when he

found himself being roughly yanked off the street and down an alley nearby.

The teens eyes widened in fear as he was roughly tossed against a brick wall, and

looked up too see that his attacker was not human.

"You scrawny little punk…" the monster growled, its eyes burning a phosphorescent

white, "Think you can fuck with our bikes, huh?"

When the creature said 'our bikes', the teen knew things were far worse than he

originally thought. And the sudden kick the creature unleashed into his gut proved

him right. Before the searing pain subsided, the monster yanked him too his feet and

delivered half a dozen powerful blows to his face. After that, everything went

black.

After punching the unconscious teen a few more times for good measure, Angel dropped

the limp body back too pavement, before turning to the teens henchmen, who was still

sitting were Angel had left him; sitting on the ground and mewling in terror.

"So you like too set shit on fire, huh?" Angel asked,

"NO! NO! It was all his idea I swear!"

"Just along for the fun of it, then?"

"Yeah…I mean no! No!"

Angel picked up the still open can of gas.

"Wait!"

The tan gargoyle upended the container over the youths head, soaking him in

gasoline.

Reaching into the pocket of his filthy denim vest, Angel pulled out a gold plated

Zippo, which let out a cheerful metallic *clink* as he flipped it open.

"OH GOD! HELP ME!!!" the prankster screamed, as he leapt to his feet and ran as fast

as he could down the alley and away from the gargoyle.

Watching the teen flee at top speed, Angel was laughing so hard he had to sit down

on the alley floor. Regaining his composure, Angel deposited the unconscious wannabe

tough guy in a nearby trash can and climbed up the side of the alley and onto the

roof of the bar, where he resumed his watch over the line of Hells Angels choppers.

Later that night, when the bar closed and the army of Hells Angels inside poured out

the door, Sonny Barger, head of the notorious Oakland chapter, looked around and

bellowed,

"HEY PROSPECT!!"

"Yeah chief?" Angel asked from his perch on the roof.

"Any trouble?"

"Nah…just a couple'a punks trying too mess with the bikes."

"Okay. Kill any of 'em?"

"Nah."

"Good." The president mounted his chopper and roared off, headed for home. The

other Angels likewise started their bikes and headed off to sleep off the nights fun

before waking up the next afternoon and starting the process all over again.

Angel, in the meantime, leapt off the bars roof and headed to the ramshackle Hells

Angels clubhouse where he slept during the day. Reaching the clubhouse, he found

his friend Terry the Tramp smoking up a joint in the front room.

"Hey prospect…wanna hit?" he asked as angel walked in the door.

"Fucking right I do…" Angel took the offered joint and took a long drag before

passing it back, "Not bad stuff."

"Yeah…" Terry said, with a slight chuckle.

Angel sat in a chair in the front room and enjoyed the high for a few minutes,

before standing up and staggering towards the kitchen. Opening the graffiti covered

refrigerator, Angel pulled out a Budweiser. After opening the heavy steel can (Beer

cans were made of steel back in the day, alright?) with an opener he carried on his

belt, Angel took a long swig before heading out the back door and checking on his

Harley.

After running a loving hand down it's spotless side, Angel made a quick patrol

around the clubhouse, alert for or at least trying to be alert for, any sign of

surveillance by either police or another outlaw club. Finding none, he walked back

into the front room to find Terry passed out on the sofa. Shaking his head, Angel

went back into the kitchen to fetch himself a few more beers to drink while waiting

for dawn.

A few nights later, Angel was riding with Magoo and Terry the Tramp through the

eastern are of Oakland when the three bikers came upon a bar with a two of the

flashiest choppers Angel had ever seen parked in front.

"Hey, I know those bikes!" Terry shouted, as he whipped his chopper into a parking

spot next to the unfamiliar choppers. Angel and Magoo followed suit.

"Watch the bikes prospect." Magoo ordered, before following Tramp into the bar.

Grumbling complaints, Angel walked into a nearby alley with a good vantage point on

the bikes. Being a prospect kind of sucked. He was constantly on bike detail,

either maintaining the machines of full members, or guarding other people's bikes,

like he was

now. As a prospect he was not yet considered worthy of sitting in on club meetings,

and had to deal with enough bullshit that he was tempted to just leave, blow town,

and give up the idea of starting a new life in this outlaw biker culture. But then

he would watch the collection of rejects he had fallen in with mount their huge,

outlandish machines and roar off into the night. He would watch the Hells Angels

stand firm in brotherhood against the world they were convinced had wronged them in

some way, displaying their deep feeling of finely tuned arrogant superiority with

the menacing winged skulls on their backs and a general disregard for anyone save

their fellow bikers. And he would go with the Hells Angels to a party somewhere,

drink several gallons of beer and a liter of scotch, eat half a dozen Benzedrine

tablets and nail some chick on the back of his Harley.

After that, any thought of leaving was shoved to the back of Angel's mind.

And plus, Angel thought as a chair suddenly came flying through the front window of

the bar Terry and Magoo had gone into, I get too beat the crap out of a lot of

people.

Running from the alley and crashing through the front door of the bar, the Hells

Angels prospect found Terry and Magoo backed against the wall along with two black

bikers Angel had never seen before, facing off against over a dozen guys in black

berets and black clothing. While he had no idea what had happened to start the

brawl, Angel knew that his two brothers were in it deep, and that was really all he

needed to know.

When one of the black beret's made a move towards Terry, Angel snatched up an

overturned chair form the bars floor and sent it flying into the back of the crowd.

The momentary distraction of this attack from behind gave Terry the time he needed

to yank the steel drive chain he was wearing as a belt off and lay out a black beret

with it.

Magoo quickly sucker punched another black beret before snatching another one and

commencing to pound him relentlessly. The two black bikers also tore into the black

berets, but one was snatched by a lineman sized black beret and smashed into the

heavy oak bar, knocking him unconscious, while the other one was forced into a

corner by three black berets, and had to fight desperately to keep from being thrown

to the ground and stomped. On the other end of the bar, Angel had hauled a black

beret off the ground and thrown him into the stacks of bottles behind the bar before

he caught solid blow to the head from a black jack, slightly dazed, Angel stumbled,

and was driven to the ground by four black berets. Before any of them could begin

beating the seemingly helpless gargoyle, Angel let out a savage roar and leapt back

to his feet. The black berets all stumbled backwards as Angel's eyes flashed white

and he spread his wings out to their full width. Before the four could recover Angel

leapt at them, letting lose four quick and devastating blows that stretched all four

across the grimy floor of the bar.

Letting lose a triumphant roar, Angel turned to find another target.

Suddenly a loud crack echoed through the cramped bar, freezing the combatants still

on their feet in place. A black beret had pulled a small semiautomatic pistol and

shot Angel.

Unfortunately for him, the tiny .32 caliber weapon barely scratched the surface of

Angels tough gargoyle hide.

With a menacing growl, Angel leapt across the bar at the pistol wielding thug, who

fired two more shots, all to no avail. Grabbing the small handgun out of the black

berets grip, Angel bent the idiot over a table and emptied the last two shots in the

clip into the black berets butt cheeks.

As the howling thug hit the floor and began writhing in pain, the other black berets

stood in shock, as Angel tossed the pistol away and turned to face them.

One of the berets shouted;

"Man, these white muthafucka's is crazy!" before running out of the bar at full

speed, closely followed by any of his compatriots who still had the ability too move

under their own power.

"God damn!" Terry shouted, as he wiped blood off of his chain with a black beret, "I

never seen anything like that shit…"

"Yeah man," the still conscious black rider said, walking over too Angel, "That was

nuts…you're the one they call Angel right?"

"Yeah…" Angel was examining the hole in his colors where the bullets had passed

through it, "What did these fucks want, anyways?"

"Aw, stupid bastards came in the bar and tried to get the Dragons to sign up with

their 'revolution'. When Terry and Magoo came in, we ignored the idiots and shot the

shit with them. That pissed these Black Panther mothers off to no end…"

The biker turned and Angel saw he had a square patch sewn on the back of his jacket,

displaying a fierce, Chinese style dragon with the Name 'East Bay' written on top

with 'Dragons' underneath.

"Oh, East Bay Dragons…I've heard of you guys." Angel said, "You got a good club…"

Angel meant that. The East Bay Dragons were as hardcore as any chapter of Hells

Angels, but they tended to stay out of the more criminal aspects of the biker world,

unlike the Angels. Because of this, the East Bay Dragons tended to avoid going on

runs and hanging out with other California outlaw clubs, which was a virtual

guarantee of trouble.

"Thanks, young blood," Sirens wailed from somewhere not to far away, " But I think

we better scram."

The five bikers headed for the door.

Later that night at a party the Oakland chapter was throwing, Terry and Magoo were

slapping Angel on the back and telling Sonny about the brawl.

"Man, this guy plugged Angel three times, and what does he do?" Magoo was saying,

"…he takes the guys gun and shoots him in the ass with it!" Terry finished.

"Guys lucky I didn't just put a round through his fuckin' skull…" Angel said, as he

pulled a flattened bullet out of his torso, where it had become lodged.

Sonny sent a calculating look over at Angel. The gargoyle had lived up to one of the

cornerstones of outlaw culture; stand up for you own, no matter what. And this

wasn't the first time. Most of the bikers could tell a tale of being completely

outnumbered in a fight, expecting a beating, only to have the tides turn as the

ferocious gargoyle laid into whatever enemy they were facing, saving them from a bad

beating or worse.

Sonny himself had been squaring off with three Oakland police when Angel had

attacked the cops from behind, knocking two out in under a minute and putting the

third through the windshield of his police car. But besides Angel's usually gleeful

propensity for violence, the gargoyle had shown that his casual fuck the world

attitude was perfectly in tune with that of the Hells Angels.

Later that night, Sonny sent Angel back outside to watch the bikes while the Oakland

Hells Angel massed in the front room of the clubhouse.

Standing in the middle of the room, Barger looked from face to face, one by one,

before asking a very simple question,

"Angel, in or out?"

The thirty bikers looked around, a few raised their hands, than a few more…before

finally the whole crew had voted.

"Alright…we'll give him his colors at the run next week."

The next week found the Hells Angels, along with every other outlaw motorcycle club

in

California, massing near a small resort town called Bass Lake. In the skies above,

Angel was gliding at top speed towards the small cove where the outlaws had been

shunted too by a hastily assembled force of Sheriff's deputies and park rangers.

Angel had had to leave at nightfall, obviously, and had missed the early morning

convoys of bikers that flowed out of Oakland. Angel was intent on arriving as soon

as possible, before the beer supply was exhausted. Landing in the woods nearby,

Angel put on a World War II German helmet to cover his high brow ridges and pointy

ears from the prying eyes of the police, and swaggered into the bonfire lit

clearing.

"YO PROSPECT!!" someone shouted, and Angel turned to see Sonny Barger waving from

the center of the clearing, in front of the huge bonfire. Angel walked over and

found that the entire Oakland charter, or at least the members still able to stand,

was arrayed around Sonny.

"Yer wearin' the wrong colors, brother." Sonny announced to Angel's confusion,

before the outlaw leader pulled a neatly folded cut off denim jacket from the saddle

bag of a chopper parked nearby. Sonny shook the vest open, and Angels breath caught

in his throat.

The vest was emblazoned with the Hells Angels name and sinister insignia; the

aviator helmet wearing skull set inside a set of gold colored wings. But it was what

was on the front that caught Angels eye; besides the SS runes sewn on the color and

red and white one-percent diamond, the vest had a name embroidered over the right

breast pocket; Angels name. Angel reached out to take his new colors, but Sonny

snatched them away. Angel went for them again, but Tiny shoved him away. Starting to

get angry, Angel turned and prepared to dash at Sonny to retrieve his colors, but the

outlaw leader reached out and handed Angel the vest. Angel realized that the bikers

had been following some time honored script. After reverently holding the vest in

his hands for closer examination, Angel undid the front buttons and pulled the vest

on. Instantly, Angel felt as if he had grown four feet taller and tougher than

plate steel.

He was now a Hells Angel; possessed of a fifteen-dollar cloth talisman that imbued

him

with nothing less than the feeling that he was superior to all other forms of life

on the

planet.

Stretching his wings through the slits someone had cut in to the back of the vest,

Angel settled the colors to a more comfortable position and let out a triumphant

shout as the Oakland chapter swarmed in to congratulate the newest member of their

perverted fraternity. As Angel fell into another hairy bear hug, he felt a sense of

belonging for the first time in his young life.

Later that night, Angel was drinking beer with a band of San Bernardino Hells Angel

he hadn't met before when a member of the Satans Slaves stumble into him, causing

Angel to spill the beer he was holding across the front of his new colors.

"Sorry buddy…" the Slave said, his tone proclaiming he was anything but. Angel

turned and surveyed the idiot…he was undoubtedly the biggest guy Angel had ever seen

wearing Slaves colors. But that didn't really matter. Using his superior strength,

Angel laid him out with one punch to the face before dragging the limp outlaw over

to the corner of the campground the Slaves had occupied. Dropping the unconscious

biker in front of his compatriots, Angel sent a long, measuring stare at every one

of the forty or so Satan's Slave's, before turning and deliberately offering his

back to them. None of the Slaves made a move, either afraid of the Hells Angels new

monster, or knew that if they made a move on Angel, every one of the other hundred

fifty Hells Angels would fall on them in the blink of an eye. Walking back to the

crowd of Hells Angels, the newly patched biker pulled a new can of beer from the

pile near the bonfire and cracked it open with a talon.

Suddenly, Elisa's pager interrupted Goliath.

"Sorry…" she said, before taking the pager out of her jacket and checked the caller

ID,

"Its my mom..." Elisa thought of her exploits with Beth earlier that night, and

decided she had better take the call, "Sorry Goliath." Elisa said as he headed for

the TV room's door.

Goliath almost protested, but saw that the clan as a whole seemed in need of a break

to digest the story he had told so far. Goliath shook his head. If the story he had

told so far seemed horrible to his clan, then what was next would cause some of them

to die of shock. After watching the clan talk for a few moments, Goliath decided it

was time to start telling the story again.

At the same run in Bass Lake, Angel had his very first encounter with a lovely

substance called LSD. He had stumbled across Terry the Tramp and Zorro in a far

corner of the campground. Both of his fellow Hells Angels were popping what looked

like sugar cubes into their mouth at a prodigious rate.

"Man, what the fuck'r you doin?" Angel asked, his voice slurred by too much beer

and

a dozen Seconal pills.

"You never dropped acid, bro?" Terry asked,

"No way man…what the fuck is acid?"

"Its fucking great stuff, here try some of this…" Zorro said, offering Angel a small

handful of cubes. Angel didn't hesitate, he reached out, grabbed the LSD and

swallowed the handful of cubes in one gulp.

Half an hour later, Angel was in the center of camp, shouting at the top of his

lungs.

"I know your fuckin' out there!" he shouted at the dark and empty woods around the

clearing, "I see you ya fucking pricks! You think yer being fuckin' sneaky huh?!

WELL TOO BAD!!!!"

Magoo looked over and shouted at the ranting gargoyle,

"Would you shut the fuck up?!"

Angel turned his wildly dilated eye's on Magoo,

"NO! Those fuckers is out there, man! They came to fuckin' take me back!!" Angel

suddenly let out a dark laugh, "But they ain't gonna get me…man, I ain't no fuckin'

weak ass kid no more…" Angel continued on this vein, quietly mumbling reassurances to

himself. Apparently satisfied now that Angel seemed to have calmed down, Magoo went

back to watching the fire and drinking beer. Unfortunately, Angel started up again

a few minutes later,

"Holy shit man! There's a huge purple guy and a fuckin' blue chick staring at me!"

Annoyed, Magoo turned and started to stand up, but he found that he wasn't the only

Angel annoyed with Angels antics, as a Hells Angel named Bobby Durt suddenly stood

up and knocked the crazed gargoyle out with a tire iron. Satisfied with this, Magoo

went back to watching the fire. The next night Angel awoke with a pounding

headache and a dry mouth, his every limb feeling rubbery. The next night, Angel

broke out form stone sleep and blearily looked around, his mind still full of the

hallucinations form the night before.

"Oh man…that was fucking awesome…" the gargoyle reverently whispered, before

stumbling to his feet and setting off in search of more of this magical new

substance.

"But why would he take more of that crap, after what it did to him?" Lexington

asked, confused by Angel's enthusiastic pursuit of this chemical form of self

flagellation.

" 'Young and stupid' would be the words I be thinkin' would best explain it, lad."

Hudson said. He found himself thinking that about Angel more and more as

Goliath's story wore on. Goliath had just opened his mouth to call for quiet when

Elisa had walked back in the room with a slightly worried expression and sat back

down on the couch. Goliath sent her a questioning look, but Elisa shrugged and told

him to continue the story.

Later that summer, Angel was drinking in a dingy bar in Oakland called the Alamo

when a distant rumble of v-twin thunder heralded the approach of a group of Harleys.

That in itself was nothing to remark on, but after the thunder had grown louder and

come to a stop outside the bar, the instant reactions of the Hells Angels standing

out side the bar was; instead of the cheery wordless shouts normally used to greet

arriving Angels, a sudden cacophony of threats were unleashed. Angel quickly hopped

off his bar stool and slipped on a pair of brass knuckles as he headed for the door,

intent on being in on the brawl that seemed to be brewing outside.

Unfortunately for the violent gargoyle teen, the threats turned out to be all in the

spirit of good fun; the East Bay Dragons had shown up, and the Angels outside the

Alamo had made a loud threat of calling the police, which the Dragons had returned

with more invective, and on down the line. Now the two groups had intermingled,

checking out each other's chopped Harley Davidson's. More than a little

disappointed, Angel dropped the brass knuckles into the back pocket of his Levis and

stalked back into the bar.

A little later on that night, Angel was back on his bar stool and finishing off his

fourth beer of the night and beginning to feel a slight buzz coming on when someone

tapped him on the shoulder.

Angel turned too find that the Dragon he had saved in the bar fight with the Black

Panthers was standing behind him.

"What's up young blood?"

"Not much, man…"

The Dragon brushed an imaginary speck of dust off the silver Death Head pin on

Angel's colors.

"I see they patched you in."

"Yeah, man they did it at Bass Lake…fucking best day of my life, man."

"No shit? Man, I can remember when they patched me in…"

The two went back and forth like this for awhile, until the Dragons president judged

it to be time to leave. Angel waved goodbye to his new friend and went back to

drinking.

A few minute's later, the author who had been following around the Hells Angels for

the better part of the last year sat down next to Angel.

"So, how do you feel about the Dragons?" he asked.

"Huh?" Angel was confused, both by the question and the fact that the writer was

bothering to get a quote from him at all. When the author had mentioned wanting to

put Angel in his book, Sonny had asked him very firmly not too, for fear that any

mention of Angels true nature would bring the cops swarming down to abduct the

gargoyle biker from the club. Tiny had added steel to this request by cheerfully

informing the author that if he wrote about Angel anyway, the outlaws would chain

him to a rock and toss him in the Pacific. After that, the author tended to avoid

Angel like the plague.

"Oh, I got ya," Angel said, figuring out the question and deciding to answer it,

"Don't care." it was the outlaw's stock answer to almost any question form a

reporter, mainly because it was generally the truth.

"Really? So, your status in this club has no bearing on your feelings at all?"

A half dozen nearby Hells Angels turned and glared at the author after he asked that

question. The author got the feeling he had just made a very large mistake.

"What's my 'status'?" Angel asked, glaring at the author.

"Well…you know…"

"No, I don't. Enlighten me."

"Surely you might have though that the only reason they let you in was because…"

"I'm a monster?"

"That isn't quite the, ah, word choice I would use…"

"Well fuck you buddy."

The author swallowed and glanced behind him, and saw that the crowd of bikers behind

him had drawn closer, ready to spring on him the moment Angel threw his first punch

at the scrawny writer.

"I am a monster." Angel said, smiling, "And you'd better remember that…" Angel

pointed to the door, "Now run along."

After the terrified writer had scurried away, the Hells Angel burst into raucous

laughter.

Oakland, California, late1967

More than two years of running with the Hells Angel have taken their toll on Angel.

A steady diet of beer, junk food, and hardcore drugs had wrecked the young gargoyle,

and he spent days, even weeks, in stone sleep while the horrific damages he gleefully

incurred on his body healed. After he would wake up, he would begin the process over

again, like he was doing at a party in San Francisco right now;

"Man, I'm feelin' pretty messed up…" Angel said, as he swallowed a handful of

Seconal pills and washed them down with whiskey.

"Yeah, man, you don't look so good," Terry said, passing Angela joint, "Maybe

that'll help…" Angel shrugged and took a quick drag before he passed the joint

back.

"And if that don't cheer you up," Frenchy, one of the Frisco Hells Angels said,

"That chick in the corner has been checkin' you out all night…"

He pointed across the room to a tall, statuesque African American woman.

"Seriously?"

"Man, she can't keep her fuckin' eyes off you, bro! Go over there and grab her…"

While he could think of several reasons why anyone not familiar with him might have

reason to stare, Angel shrugged and swaggered across the room anyway.

"So…what's your name?" Angel asked the woman.

The woman gave Angel quick evaluating glance, taking in Angels filthy Levis, the

German helmet he was wearing, the one percenter diamond, red number thirteen, SS

runes and Iron cross he wore on his ratty cut off denim colors, and glaringly

obvious set of wings the set of that Angel had caped around his shoulders, and said

"YOU STOP RIGHT THERE GOLIATH!!!" Diane Maza shouted, bursting into the room,

surprising the clan and sending a terrified Bronx into a sudden barking fit, which

lasted until Hudson clamed him down.

"Mom!? What the hell? Dad's worried sick! And why would you…" Elisa's eyes widened,

and she visibly paled, "No…"

"Diane, I had no intention of telling Elisa…" Goliath said, trying to remain calm.

Elisa sent Goliath a look that would have melted iron, "In front of the clan, I

meant.", Goliath hastily added, mentally cursing Titania for showing him the story

of Angel's relationship with Elisa's mother.

Diane covered her face with her hands,

"Its alright Goliath…I don't think it matters anymore…"

She had gone looking for Elisa the moment she'd heard Beth give the name of the

Vikingz' leader, knowing that her eldest daughter would be doing her best to dig up

his past, and in the process, she might unearth the story of Diane's three semesters

at Berkeley. Now it appeared she'd blown the whistle on herself.

"If you don't mind, Goliath, I can take the story from here…"

Sending a glance at her daughter, who vaguely nodded, Diane took up the tale;

Well, I'd already figured out that Angel was a great deal more than just a zoned out

biker. It was amazing how open he was about being a gargoyle…he didn't bother

covering up his more…unique characteristics. None of the people at that party had

mentioned a thing to me about him at all, and the bikers there all seemed to take

him for granted. Maybe everyone just followed their example, or maybe they just

didn't care, I don't know.

But I was fascinated. Oh, I suppose IO should tell you what I was doing there in

the first place;

I'd come to California to start college in Berkeley, and I'd gone out with a guy I'd

met on campus. We'd gone to this party earlier that night, and it looked like just

another hippie bash, Bob Dylan and free love, until forty Hells Angels had roared up

and taken the place over. A few guys had objected to this, but after the bikers had

taken them outside and worked them over for a few minutes, they changed their minds. My date disappeared shortly after that. I was scared senseless

for awhile, but the bikers seemed content to stick mainly to themselves, except for

when some hippie chick would wonder over and introduce herself, or when one of the

bikers would snatch a beer from one of the coolers out back. After awhile, things

returned to normal, everyone just accepting the Hells Angels as being part of the

party. About the time I was trying to figure out what to do about getting home, I

noticed…him. I was fascinated. When Angel came across the party and talked to me,

I almost jumped out of my skin. I told him my name, and after awhile, I mentioned

that I was stuck at the party with way home. He asked if he could give me a lift

back to my place. After that, we met a few more time that summer, went to a few open

air concerts, but I didn't see him all that much.

Elisa let out an involuntary sigh of relief. Her mother's involvement with Angel

seemed to be somewhat inconsequential. Elisa couldn't believe she'd actually thought

her and the outlaw had…

Diane cleared her throat and continued the story.

After the summer riding season ended, I saw more of Angel, as the Hells Angels came

back to Oakland more or less permanently for the winter. He always seemed to want

to keep me away from them, like he was protecting me, until one night I talked him

into taking me to the Alamo. When we got there, it was like he became a whole new

person;

every time I'd seen him, he was always quiet, funny, and had this self satisfied

smile on his face, like he had fooled everyone in the room, and they just hadn't

figured it out yet.

But with the Angels…he changed completely.

He dropped tow tabs of acid someone gave him without any hesitation. After that, we

went into the bar and Angel spent the next three hours keeping his friends from

tearing each other apart. Guys three or four times Angels size would square off,

but when Angel jumped between, them, they'd suddenly drop their quarrel and go back

to drinking quietly. I saw this happen again and again, and I only found out why a

little before we left. Some local though guys had jumped a biker in the parking lot,

and Angel had been the first through the door to aid him.

In the blink of an eye, he leveled half of them and sent the other half running for

their lives. After that, I asked if Angel would take me home.

Later that night, I tried to understand how my friend could turn from, a funny,

carefree guy who wouldn't hurt a fly, to a ferociously violent biker whose self

appointed mission in life seemed to be to protect the worst outlaws in the country

from anything; even themselves.

After that night, I didn't see Angel for a long time.

Second semester was pretty hard one me; I wasn't fitting into well on campus, except

for in a few protest groups, but even then I didn't have too many real friends. I was

feeling…lonely…and when Angel showed up one night and took me for a glide, we

became…intimate.

Diane closed her eyes for a minute, remembering Angel taking her to the top of the

Golden Gate bridge, and what had happened after that, as she gave into her bodies

needs.

"Hey, earth to Mom."

Diane's eyes snapped open, "Sorry…after that, we saw each other quite a bit…"

Elisa raised an eyebrow,

"Seems like it…"

Diane looked more than a little embarrassed, and continued the story.

The…morning after, I saw that Angel was in awful shape, I mean I could tell just by

looking at his frozen stone form that he was horribly thin and I could even make

out…tract marks on his arms.

I didn't know what to do, but I knew I had to do SOMETHING.

The next night I cooked him dinner; he ate like a starved wolf, and admitted it was

the first real meal he'd eaten in months. From that point on, I insisted that he

stay with me, and I did my best to get him back into shape, which worked, up to a

point but he would always slip back into his old ways, to many drugs, too much

alcohol, and absolute disregard for his own welfare. I still wouldn't give up on him

though; he was my friend.

Eventually I convinced some of his friends in the Hells Angels to try to wean him

off some of the chemical SHIT he kept pumping into his body; that proved to be

easy.

The president of the Hells Angels was as worried about Angel as I was, and with his

help I managed to get Angel off of his heroin habit, which was apparently far worse

than I knew about.

Elisa made a horrible face at the thought of her mother had received help from Sonny

Barger, and the insinuation that the outlaw biker chieftain had enough sympathetic

emotions to wish to help another living being.

But after that, things went down hill…we disagreed on so much, it was a wonder we

had lasted the short time we did. Angel adopted the party line of his fellow

bikers, which was in complete opposition to my own beliefs.

Eventually politics just one of many things that set us apart, and after I went home

for the summer, we were more or less separated. We tried to get back together when I

came back for my third semester, but it didn't work out; he'd evolved with his fellow

bikers into something far removed from the lunatic, carefree souls they were before

into something new and infinitely more dangerous. When I told him I was going to

New York to finish college, he didn't try and stop me.

Diane finished her story, and looked over at Elisa.

"Elisa…I'm sorry. I should have told you about Angel the moment I saw Goliath in

Nigeria, but I didn't know how to tell you that…"

"You actually had sex before you met dad, and it was with the gargoyle member of the

worst motorcycle gang on the face of the planet?"

"Yes."

Elisa could only shrug,

"I guess I can understand why you might want to keep that to yourself…does Dad

know?"

Diane shook her head.

"We should probably keep it that way."

Diane let out a relieved sigh and sat down on the couch next to her daughter.

Elisa was silent for a long moment, suddenly worried about her feelings for Goliath.

Was her attraction to Goliath a mere genetic one, a passing feeling form mother to

daughter of attraction to someone not of her species?

Elisa shook her head refusing to believe that. Her feelings for Goliath ran much

deeper than a mere teenage fling. But still…Elisa worried. Were her feeling s for

Goliath mere symptoms of lust? Maybe she was reading to much into this....

These thoughts gave her plenty of other things to focus on as Goliath took back the

stage and began to tell the story of Angel as he went through the tumultuous biker

wars of the seventies.


	12. Chapter 12

Northern California, 1975

Angel watched as a bright red stream of arterial blood spurted out of his neck and

splashed across the cream colored upholstery.

Letting loose a loud scream, Angel thrashed around the backseat of the speeding

sedan, blood gushing from the half dozen gunshot wounds that riddled his body from

neck stomach.

"Hold still Angel!" the huge Hells Angel in the back seat shouted, as he did his

best to hold the gargoyle down.

"Hang on bro, suns comin' up soon…" Cisco advised from the front seat as he watched

Angel writhe around in pain.

The sedans driver sent a dubious look over his shoulder at the wounded biker.

"Are you kiddin' me?" he muttered, "No way even HE could survive that…"

"Shut up asshole!" Cisco ordered, "And keep your mouth closed about crap you don't

know nothin' about!"

Cisco looked at his wrist watch and let out a silent curse. Two hours until the sun

came up…not good. It had been an hour since Angel had been shot outside of a party

the four bikers had been attending in Vallejo, and he had been losing blood steadily

since then.

Now the four Oakland Hells Angels where headed back towards Oakland at full speed,

hoping to find a doctor back in the safety of their home turf to keep their comrade

alive until dawn.

Out of the corner of his eye Cisco spotted a highway sign announcing that they had

just reached the Oakland city limits.

"Okay bro, no big deal, we're home an' we'll grab the Doc outta his place…"

Angel suddenly sat bolt upright and snatched the collar of Cisco's leather vest,

"Don't fuckin' patronize me motherfucker…" Angel snarled, before his blood slick

hand slid off the vest and he passed out.

"Shit! Keep him the fuck awake Doug!!"

The huge biker slapped the unconscious gargoyle across the face, bringing Angel

crashing back to reality with a fresh scream of pain.

"Why the fuck'd you do that man!?" He shouted

"So you didn't die." The big Hells Angels tersely explained.

Angel groaned in response, biting back on another scream.

Ten agonizing minutes later, Angel was lifted from the back of the car and carried

into a small wood frame house not far from the oil stained waters of the San

Francisco Bay.

"Jesus…" A heavily tattooed man wearing just a ratty pair of jeans muttered as Cisco

and the huge biker dropped Angel down on his kitchen table, "How long ago?"

"About an hour…"

The tattooed covered man in jeans shook his head, before reaching into a loose panel

in his kitchen ceiling and pulling out a military surplus medical kit,

"I'll do what I can…but I haven't seen anything this bad since the 'Nam.",

he set to work on Angel, doing his best to staunch the blood flowing form Angels

wounds, while Cisco and Doug held the still thrashing gargoyle down.

An hour later, a heavily bandaged Angel was passed out on the kitchen table and the

bare chested medic had inserted an IV bag he'd pulled from his fridge into the

wounded Hells Angel's arm.

"Okay kids…" The medic said, wiping blood from his hands off with a towel, "He might

survive…if you'd let me sew him up."

Cisco laughed, "Just wait man…you'll see what's what when the sun comes up!"

"Alright man…" the medic motioned to a glass full of bullets by the sink, "But I

ain't never seen a man survive six hits from a M-16 without help closing the

holes…"

Doug and Cisco both laughed,

"Angel ain't a man, Doc." Cisco explained.

"Trust me man…tomorrow night he'll be golden," Doug added, "Then we can find the

assholes that did this to him." The huge biker's eyes took on a particularly

menacing light at that thought.

Cisco shook his head and looked at the frozen stone form of Angel, which was propped

in a corner of the Oakland Hells Angels clubhouse. Angel had been frozen in stone

since the night he'd been shot…and Cisco was fairly certain he was dead.

The longest he'd seen Angel frozen in stone had been a two week stretch years

earlier, after the gargoyle had apparently made the decision to see how much speed

he could take before his heart exploded. But it had been two months now since Angel

had been shot, with no signs of life. Cisco let out a string of curses in Spanish

and kicked a nearby table in frustration.

Fu Griffin and Moldy Marvin, two of the last Hells Angels left in the club who were

present when Angel made his grand entrance into the outlaw world, sat silently on a

couch nearby.

"Looks like we lost another brother…" Fu said,

"Yeah…Terry, Magoo, Tiny, Bobby and now Angel." There were a dozen others, moved on

to an early grave, or just into a steady life of a wife, two and a half kids and no

bike; which was basically the same thing in the eyes of the outlaws.

"Yeah…" Cisco sighed and reached for a phone on a nearby tabled, with a piece of

masking tape on it that read 'The Feds are listening-watch what you say!' and

started to dial the number of a reliable funeral home when the apparently lifeless

statue in the corner suddenly cracked and shattered, sending bits of stone smacking

into the three Hells Angels and breaking a few bottles behind a nearby wet bar, and

depositing a now flesh and blood gargoyle biker on the tile floor of the clubhouse.

"Holy shit! He ain't dead!" Fu said as he leapt from the couch and ran over to

Angel.

"Jesus man what the fuck…you look like hell!"

"No shit…" Angel croaked.

Angels formerly back length black hair had almost completely fallen out, as well as

his chest length beard, and the gargoyle had lost what appeared to be half his

weight, his clothes still stained with the blood he had lost when he'd been shot.

"Fu, get him some water!" Cisco ordered, "Marvin, help me get him off the ground!"

Grabbing Angel emaciated shoulders, while Marvin grabbed a hold of his feet, the two

bikers carried Angel over to a couch and set him down on it.

"He really doesn't look to good…" Fu said, as he came back with a glass of water

from the sink by the bar.

"Gimme that…" Cisco grabbed the water and helped Angel drink it, "What's up, bro?"

he asked the half dead gargoyle.

"Not doin…so good…' Angel gulped down the rest of the water, "Hungry too…"

Fu looked at Angel,

"Whaddya want me to get?"

"Just…carry my ass to the fridge…"

Cisco and Fu exchanged quick glances,

"Are you sure you should…"

"Yes…let's go…"

"Okay…hey Marvin, call up your old lady and get her down here to help take care of

this guy." Cisco ordered as he and Fu dragged Angel towards the Clubhouses kitchen.

After helping Angel open the door, the gargoyle reached in and snatched a package of

steaks off a shelf and ripped off the plastic wrapping.

Grabbing a steak out of the package, Angel stripped the raw meat down to the bones

in seconds, before he quickly sank his teeth into the next one, devouring it with

the same

ferocity as he had the first one.

"Jesus Christ man…"

"Better…" Angel said, wiping a thin rivulet of blood from the corner of his mouth.

As Cisco and Fu hauled Angel back to his feet, Doug, the enormous Hells Angel who

had held Angel down the night he had been shot walked in, and nearly tripped over

his own feet when he saw his comrade back in the flesh.

"Holy shit…you ain't dead!" Doug shouted, as he ran over and enfolded Angel in a

brawny bear hug.

Angel could only let out a half strangled gasp in response, his emaciated body no

match for the other biker's raw strength.

"Doug let him the fuck go man!" Cisco ordered, seeing Angel begin too struggle in

the manic bikers embrace. Doug loosened his grip on Angel, and looked at him for the

first time seeing the horrific state Angel was in.

"Jesus bro, you look like hell!"

"No…shit…" Angel muttered.

"So did you see the assholes that did this too you?" Doug asked, suddenly exhibiting

a deep craving and a wild look in his eyes.

"Yeah…"

Doug's face lit up with child like eagerness and joy,

"Great! Who was it!?"

"Gimme a sec…we'll get 'em later…"

"But…"

Angel looked up at Doug.

"I said we'll get 'em later, when I can move. Got it?"

Doug looked crestfallen.

"Got it, Angel."

Angel snorted an eight inch line of cocaine of a glass counter top then took a swig

from a bottle of Jack Daniels before looking up at the Hells Angels gathered in the

small apartment down the street from the clubhouse.

"The fuckers that nailed me were the goddamn Wanderers…"

The Hells Angels suddenly started up a dozen side conversations at that news;

The Wanderers were a miniscule club from southern California, and it was ahrd to

understand why they'd make a suicidal move like trying to kill a member of the

states biggest and badest MC.

"Are you sure about that?" One of the bikers asked Angel.

"I'm not likely to forget something like that am I?" the gargoyle shot back.

"Okay…"

"Alright, well Doug, Jim, Del, Angel get ready; your headed down south tomorrow to

settle this." Cisco said, detailing off his chosen revenge party.

Doug looked elated, while there was no visible reaction from the other bikers.

"Yo Angel, you cool with that shit bro?" Cisco asked.

Angel looked down at his still thin body and ran a hand through the short stubble on

his head.

"Your fuckin'a right I am.", he proclaimed, drawing his mouth up in a thin, hard

line, his eyes flashing into a white light.

Two nights later, Angel was crouched in a small stand of brush behind the ramshackle

garage that served The Wanderers MC as a clubhouse. Out front, Doug and Jim had

subdued the prospect who was watching the bikes parked out front with a hammer, and

Del and Angel were preparing to rush the back door and take on the gang members

inside.

"You ready to roll, bro?" Del asked

Angel racked the slide on his forty-five, chambering a round.

"Yeah, lets go."

Both bikers hopped up and ran towards the back door.

Angel reached it first, delivering a wood splintering kick to it that nearly cracked

the door in two. Two startled Wanderers inside dove behind a couch, but before they

could do anything else, Angel had jumped over the couch and was leveling his pistol

at them.

Del, in the meantime had butt stroked another Wanderer in the stomach with his

shotgun, and stuffed the weapons barrel in the mouth of another. The door to the

front room swung open, and Jim and Doug shoved in another three Wanderers.

"This all of 'em?" Del asked, after Jim nodded an affirmative, Del asked the now

terrified bikers. "Which one of you little shit s is the guy who shot our brother?"

Silence.

"Angel, can you tell which one of these guys it was?"

Angel shook his head,

"Looks like we're gonna have to ask 'em the fun way…" Doug said, "Let's tie these

pricks up."

Grabbing a few stray lengths of cable off the walls, the four Hells Angels bound the

Wanderers MC and dropped the trussed bikers in the center of the room.

Looking at the tools spread on a nearby workbench, Del reached over and selected a

heavy ball peen hammer.

Angel in the meantime, began to circle the eight Wanderers, occasionally leaning in

close and sniffing one, before baring his fangs and letting loose with a deep

snarl. Del returned to the circle of bikers just as Angel had finished going over

the Wanderers president.

Del handed the hammer over to Angel, before crouching down in front of the now pale

and terrified biker.

"I tell you what's gonna happen tonight man…" Del said, waving his shotgun in the

presidents face, "We're gonna pound the livin' crap outta you guys, then we're gonna

kill the punk motherfucker that shot Angel…" The whole time Del was talking, Angel,

who had now uncaped his wings and was walking around the circle of bikers with eyes

burning a phosphorescent white, "But if you guys don't tell us just who it was that

shot him, I'm just gonna let him eat you assholes."

The Wanderer's eyes widened in fear, and finally the silence was broken.

"It was Alley! That mother fucker right there!" one of the bikers shouted, motioning

with his chin to a heavily bearded Wandered with an enormous beer gut.

"Lile, you motherfuhhhh!!!" Alleys shout was ended by a blow Angel landed to his

head.

"Lets leave these two alone…" Fu sneered, and he, Doug and Del began to drag the

other members of The Wanderers out of the room, kicking and stomping them as they

went.

Eventually, only Angel and his would be killer were left.

Angel looked down at the biker, who looked up at him and began crying,

"Come on man, I got a family! I Got kids to feed!! Please man…"

Angel leveled his pistol, but he looked unsure of himself.

"Please man, what's the beef? You're still alive, aren't you? Please man, don't kill

me!"

Abruptly, all the fun went out of the act for Angel. This wasn't going to be some

brawl in a cheap bar were he mashed some idiot good-he was about to KILL someone.

For the first time in long time, Angel felt unsure. When the hell had he gone from a

kid who ran away from home to a thug about to execute someone who had pumped six

rounds from a high powered rifle into him?

"Come one brother, don't do it!"

Brother. That's were he went wrong. This stupid insignia he was wearing. Hells

Angels, brothers of the road, together until the end; he'd seen what a load of shit

that was.

"Brother, I swear you won't hear from me again!! I'll just dispear!!"

There's that word again. More bitterness. Why the hell did this guy try and kill

him? Because of that stupid insignia? A funny looking skull with wings? Why the

hell…he couldn't KILL someone…

Then Angel remembered being cold and scared on a tramp freighter on the Atlantic,

starving half to death. If it wasn't for his club brothers he'd still be running

scared, if he hadn't starved to death or been killed. Angel looked at the

blubbering Wanderer, and shook his head.

The club had gone down hill…guys were getting in deep with bad shit; drugs, guns,

and god knew what else. Everyone was out to get them. Everyone was out to get his

family.

His real family. Not the lunatic fanatics he'd grown up with, but the people who had

raised him from a scared kid to a real person.

And this mother fucker and his buddies had tried to kill him, now that his family

needed his protection the most?

Fuck that.

Angel raised his pistol and centered it over the Wanderer's forehead before pulling

the trigger.

In the other room Doug had just finished smashing a Wanderer's knees when the shot

rang out.

"Jesus Christ…I didn't think he'd do it…" Doug said out loud.

Across the room, Fu was slicing The insignia off the Wanderers colors,

"Are you kiddin' me bro? That's the Angel in there man; he takes care of business."

Presently, Angel walked into the room, his eyes slightly glassy, and his movement

slow, but when he met Fu's eyes he nodded and ran a finger across his throat.

"All right assholes." Fu growled, addressing the bound and bloodied Wanderers, "Your

done. Your club is toast," As he spoke, Fu soaked the pile of Wanderers insignia in

gasoline, "You fuckers are gonna get the hell outta California, and never come back.

Got it?"

A few Wanderers managed nods and one a strangled yes.

"Good…as for this shit…" Fu reached in his pocket for a match to use to set the pile

of patches alight, but forma across the room, Angel suddenly pulled out a Zippo

lighter, flicked it alight, and tossed it into the pile of gasoline soaked

insignia.

The patches went up like dry leaves.

The rest of the seventies were one long battle for Angel.

A running gun battle with the Outlaws MC that ran from St. Louis to Kansas City.

Firebombing a Renegades clubhouse in Kentucky.

A firefight with a dozen Bandidos in a crowded bar in west Texas.

And capping off all this violent behavior were too much alcohol, too much Cocaine,

and far too much Crank.

Angel had managed to make himself indispensable to the Hells Angels as willing and

able savior, but at the same time he was slowly killing himself night after night.

But while Angel was rushing across the country trying to save the Hells Angels,

the bikers were pissing away the gargoyles suffering.

Dozens of Drug, extortion, murder, theft and assault charges were racking up against

club members and the bikers were frequently dancing out of them on technicalities and

the skills of high priced attorneys.

Finally the feds had had enough, and in 1970, they decided to get rid of these

troublemakers once and for all.

"Bravo team, in postion…"

"Lead, copy that, Alpha team. report status…"

"We're in position…"

"Alright then, all teams prepare to go on my mark…"

"5.

4,

3,

2,

1,…GO!GO!GO!"

A deafening roar echoed through the Oakland night, shattering window glass and

sending every dog for miles into a barking frenzy. An FBI SWAT team rushed through

the gaping hole that used to be the door to a dingy apartment not far from the

Oakland Hells Angels clubhouse.

"FRONT ROOM IS CLEAR!! PROCEED TO THE BEDROOM!!" The SWAT leader shouted, as his

team swarmed into the small apartment. One of the black clad Feds blasted a door

down with his shot gun, and four FBI agents tried to clear the room behind it, but

before they got very far, an end table flew across the room and slammed into their

leaders chest.

"Jesus Christ!!

"What the fuck…"

Before the FBI agents could recover from that shock, a screaming woman was shoved

towards them from the blackened room.

One of the agents grabbed the woman, automatically tossing her to the ground and

hand cuffing her, but before the could stand up, a shadow suddenly moved in the

darkened room,

"FREEZE! HANDS ABOVE YOUR…"

Before the FBI Agent could finish, the shadow had darted across the room and crashed

through a window.

"Shit!" The Agents ran over to the window, "He's gone!"

"I'll call the Oakland PD. maybe we can find this guy…" the Agent didn't sound

hopeful.

A few blocks away, a breathless Angel stopped in the shadows of a dark alley and

tried to regain his breath, and took a quick stock of his situation.

The feds had just raided his safe house.

His bike was parked out forint of the apartment building.

His keys were in the apartment.

So were his clothes.

Angel looked down at his nakedness and laughed.

This well and truly sucked.

Well, he did still have wings, at least. He climbed the side of the building and

hopped off the roof, gliding towards the clubhouse.

He was a block away before he noticed that the street in front had acquired some new

blue and red street lights.

Shit.

Angel changed course, headed for Sonny's house.

Same thing.

Dels House.

Ditto.

In fact the house of every Oakland Hells Angel seemed to have acquired its own

detachment of police and squad cars.

"Shit, they hit EVERYBODY?" Angel asked out loud. Gliding a little unsteadily, Angel

changed course and headed for Frisco.

The next day, Angel was camped out in the living room of a Frisco Hells Angels,

wearing a set of ill fitting jeans and a baggy T-shirt, trying to digest the news

he'd just got from Cisco.

"The fuck is R.I.C.O.?" Angel asked,

"Some new BS law the feds got' they use it on Mafia motherfuckers mostly…"

"So they think if they charge Oakland as a Criminal organization, they can go out

and bust the rest of us?" Angel shook his head. Sure, Hells Angels got in a lot of

shit, but Mafia stuff? Not likely.

"Yeah pretty much…" Cisco hesitated before continuing, "Hey man, I got something to

tell you…"

"Shoot…"

"This R.I.C.O. thing proves the feds are watching us pretty closely."

"Yeah. And?"

"So that means their gonna end up watching YOU pretty closely…"

Angel didn't know what to say.

"Look bro, I think it might be best if you were to disappear for awhile. Before the

feds find you and lock your ass up…"

Crestfallen, Angel was silent for a long time.

"I'll need some wheels…" He finally said.

"Hey no problem, come over here and take one my bikes…"

Three hours later, Angel; was on his way out of the Frisco bay. Mounted on one of

Cisco's choppers, wearing a long black leather duster, and carrying nothing but four

ounces of Speed and a solid blade hunting knife; this would be the last day he ever

saw the lights of the city he was raised in.

Years later, in the Arizona Desert outside Cave Creek, a moving van was parked

outside a small ranch house, and a Harley Davidson road king was parked on the

porch.

Inside, Sonny Barger was nursing a warm beer and staring out the window; he\'d sent

the Hells Angel who had driven the moving van here from Oakland home earlier that

morning, and was now alone in the house he'd moved to after leaving Oakland, the

place where'd he'd spent his entire life so far-not counting time spent in the Army

or in prison.

Letting out a sentimental sigh, Sonny finished his beer and tossed the empty bottle

in a trash can before turning to the few boxes scattered around the house. He

snorted, wondering exactly why he had bothered with the moving van…oh well.

The aged outlaw leader opened the nearest box and began to rifle through its

contents.

The quiet outside was suddenly broken by the roar of an approaching group of

Harleys.

Nothing about that seemed overly remarkable to Sonny; it was either the Cave Creek

charter he had just transferred t coming to welcome him, or just a bunch of

RUBs(Rich Urban Bikers) out for a spin after a long day of shuffling paper.

Barger snorted in amusement, remembering the days when anybody on a Harley couldn't

even get service at a restraint. Nowadays the big bikes were a damn status symbol.

Barger continued to go through the boxes containing his meager personal possessions

when the thunderous V-twin rumble came to a halt outside his house. A few minutes

later the doorbell rang.

Unbuttoning the clasp on the sheath he wore on his side, Barger drew his knife(just

in case) and opened the door.

Standing on his porch were two riders Barger had never seen before; one massive

redhead who looked like he could bench press a station wagon, and another rider with

dark skin, shoulder length black hair and a thick growth of beard outlining his jaw.

"Hey chief." The black haired biker said,

Barger blinked, before raising his finger to his throat and covering the patch of

gauze that covered the hole left by a cancer surgery to his throat.

"Do I know you?"

The black hair laughed, before reaching up to pull of his sunglasses.

Barger let out a loud gasp.

The black haired rider uncpped a set of wings form under his long black duster and

winked.

"Holy shit…" Barger wheezed, "Angel?"

"Right the first time!"

The outlaw leader reached out and wrapped Angel in a trademark bone crunching biker

bear hug.

"How the hell have you…" Sonny stopped dead and looked at the clear blue sky that

stretched across the horizon, "Its daylight!"

"Yeah."

"How did…"

"Magic." Angel said with a mischievous grin.

"Right…" Barger rolled his eyes.

For the first time, Barger looked down and saw the silver club insignia pin on

Angels leather vest-a Viking Helmet with crossed axes. Juts above the right breast

pocket on Angels colors was the club name; Vikingz.

"Hey, you got a new club! What gives?"

"I was pretty fucked up after that R.I.C.O. shit; I couldn't stay with you guys

anymore, thanks to the fuckin' cops…so a few years ago I started my own club." Angel

waved at the forty or so bikes parked on the street in front of the house.

"Your own club, huh?" Sonny shook his head. There was obviously a lot more to this

story than Angel was telling-but that was not his business unless Angel chose to

tell him about it, "So what'd you guys want?"

"Just stopping by to check in Sonny…and let you know that we're around, in case you

need us."

"Same goes for you brother. If you ever need anything, I'm still gonna be here for

ya."

Angel laughed, before heading back to his chopper, which he mounted with a palpable

air of authority, before waving his finger in the air, signaling the pack that its

was time to roll out. After the last Harley roared to life, Angel pointed a finger

down the street, and the forty bikes took off down the street in unison, roaring off

into the sun baked desert highways beyond at top speed.

Goliath looked around as he finished his tale. There were other things that he

needed to tell his Clan of, things far darker than the life story of the leader of

an outlaw motorcycle club-but they could wait for another time. Judging by the

shocked look on Angela's face, Elisa's pointed silence, Lexington's dark glare, and

Brooklyn's far off eyes, everyone had had quite enough information for one night.

The sun would rise soon as well; now was a good a time as any to allow everyone time

to assimilate the tale Goliath had just told.

"Tha's th' end of tha' then, aye lad?" Hudson asked.

"Yes."

"Intrestin' tale…I suppose you'll explain the point of tellin' it the next night

then?"

"I…yes."

"Good." Hudson rose from the couch and stretched his wings, "A good days rest'll

help us all figure tha' out…" Hudson looked at Elisa, "Aye lass?"

"Huh…yeah right, tomorrow…" Elisa shook her head to clear it. She could definitely

use the sleep, "Tomorrow.' She said again, rising from the couch.


	13. Chapter 13

Elisa arched her back and moaned, slamming her body down hard on the stiff gargoyle

member that was buried in her sex. Below her, Goliaths eyes flashed a bright white

and he reached up to embrace his love as he released his seed into her.

Elisa slumped across Goliaths chest, an exhausted smile spread across her face.

The smile grew wider as she felt Goliath gently stroking her back, while easing his

still half erect penis out of her soaked channel.

"I love you, my Elisa…" Goliath murmured into her ear.

"I love you too, Big Guy." Elisa whispered back, wrapping her svelte arm around his

massive shoulders.

Even as she whispered the words of endearment, she felt the doubts that had risen

after

her mother's story of her tryst with Angel come back; nagging at her from the

darkest shadows of her mind. Was it love?

Were the feelings she felt for her lavender giant mere symptoms of lust, or worse,

some sort of fetish she'd inherited from her mother's genes?

'You could inherit things like that through genetics right?' Elisa wondered, 'It

seems I read that somewhere… gaahhhh! This is stupid! Why am I having these thought!

I love Goliath!' 'Oh do you?' The nagging voice demanded, 'Or do you just love that

thirteen inch dick and the great sex?'

Below her, Elisa felt Goliath shift his weight ,

"My Elisa, I'm sorry, I must get up…the sun is rising."

"Huh? Oh yeah, sorry Big Guy." Elisa pushed her self up and slid off Goliath.

"Elisa, is everything alright? You seem distracted by something", Goliath said, as

he stood up.

When Elisa gazed up into his eyes, she knew she couldn't lie to him…

"No. I've got something I need to sort out Goliath…"

"What is it Elisa? perhaps I can…"

"No, I'm sorry Goliath, but I need to figure this out myself."

"Are you sure, my love?"

"Yeah…I'm sorry big guy."

"Its alright my Elisa…but please, be careful!"

Elisa laughed, but when she saw Goliath was serious, she gave a solemn nod,

"I will, Goliath."

The next day, Elisa was standing just behind the main auction yard of the New York

Police Departments impound yard and wondering just why she was there.

She'd spent the morning sitting behind her desk and staring at the mountain of

paperwork on it, when the same thoughts that had plagued her the night before…so

without knowing why, she had driven down to the impound yard to see what remained of

the Harley Davidson chopper Angel had wrapped around a pillar in downtown Manhattan.

Just a cop hunch, she had told herself.

But when she had gotten to the impound yard, she had found that the twisted remains

of the chopper were being put up for sale. Puzzled, she'd looked at the wreckage and

over at the impound auction manager with a quizzical look,

"Yeah I know, but trust me, anything short of an explosion, a Harley can survive.

That bike looks trashed now, sure, but after a few months work it'll be back in

shape."

Elisa had only shrugged, still disbelieving that anyone could be able to breathe

life back into the wrecked motorcycle.

"Alright Detective, we're about to start," the auction manager said as he walked

past Elisa behind the auction yard, "Are you sure you don't want that old Panhead?

We give preference to officers, you know."

"No, but thanks though…"

"No problem, Detective. Now, if you'll excuse me…" the auction manager ducked

through a gate in the chain link fence surrounding the auction yard and started his

sales pitches.

Elisa watched through the fence as the first vehicles were auctioned off; a drug

dealers Cadillac convertible, a street racers low slung, supercharged Honda Civic;

the list droned on, and Elisa watched the crowd as it shrank and grew with each new

item put on the block.

Suddenly she spotted something out of the ordinary; two bikers near the back, both

wearing a three piece patch on their vests; a Viking helmet with crossed axes

between green and blue rockers. Looking closer, Elisa saw that the two Vikingz

members were with the small group that had gone with Angel to pick her up from the

garage.

"Alright folks, we're going to take a short break, and when we get back the first

item up for sale is going to sweep you off your feet-an original Harley Panhead,

chopped to perfection with some slight frame damage!" the auctioneer announced,

As he left the stage, Elisa made a beeline for him.

"Well hi there detective! Change your mind on that chopper?"

"Yes."

The Auctioneer did a double take,

"Really? Well I hate to see it go, but rules are rules; its yours. Be sure and stop

back in and show it to me whenever you get it repaired."

"Uhhh yeah…sure."

Elisa waited for the auctioneer to go back to the stage before approaching the two

Vikingz loitering in the back of the crowd. She marveled at their audacity in

wearing their colors to a police sponsored auction, especially when the Vikingz were

wanted for

questioning in a murder case.

"Alright folks…" the Auctioneer announced from the stage, "I hate to tell you this

but that chopper I told you about has been pulled form the sale; ongoing police

investigation needed it back you see now our next item…"

The two bikers snarled curses, but fell silent when Elisa approached,

"I guess we got you too thank for that, don't we pig?" The tall Viking with slicked

back blond hair demanded,

"Nice way too show your appreciation for us saving your ass!" The Viking with

shoulder length black hair, a long beard, and the build of a beer keg growled.

"That's right boys…" Elisa was unaffected by the aura of concentrated menace the

bikers seemed to be sending her way, "I just want to talk to your boss, that's

all."

"And if we want the bike back, we better agree right?"

"Exactly."

"Hold on a sec cop…" the beer barrel shaped Viking said, as he pulled a cell phone

out of the inside pocket of his leather vest, he turned away, made a call, whispered

a few sentences to whoever was on the other end, and turned back to face Elisa,

"Alright lady, the boss'll see you; tonight, eight o'clock, in the Caverns, got

it?"

"Yeah."

Without another word, the bikers stormed out of the auction yard.

Moments later, Elisa heard two Harley's roar to life in the parking lot outside,

before roaring off and fading into the sounds of the city outside.

As Elisa turned to head back to her Fairlane, she spotted a woman in severe looking

business dress headed for the door with the same angry stride as the Vikingz had

used.

Turning her head for a better look, Elisa caught a glimpse of fire engine red hair

as the woman ducked out of the impound yard,

'Hey that looked like…nah.' Elisa shook her head and headed for her car.

Later that night, near Pelham in the Bronx,

They called them caverns. In reality the 'Caverns' were nothing more then the bleak

concrete voids under the raised interstate systems that fed into New York. The dark

recesses provided a very convenient meeting place for anyone who whished for a quiet

place to chat, with a half dozen escape routes and no witnesses other than a few

derelict cars and drunken transients .And in this twisting man made labyrinth, Elisa

Maza found herself sitting in her fathers SUV with the wreckage of a chopper

belonging to a gargoyle outlaw biker loaded in the back.

Before she could begin to wonder to much at her predicament, a large pick-up truck

slid to a stop next to her SUV.

The driver s side door swung open, and a tan colored gargoyle wearing blue jeans, a

black t-shirt and a leather vest adorned with the trappings of an outlaw biker

hopped out,

"All right detective," Angel said, striding over to Elisa's door, "What is it you

want to talk about? And where's my bike?"

Wordlessly, Elisa hit a button that popped the rear hatch of the SUV open.

"Great…" Angel headed around to the back of the SUV, reached in, and pulled the

eight-hundred pound bike out of rear door and set it on the ground.

Elisa opened her own door and walked over to where Angel was crouching down and

inspecting the wreck of his once pristine bike.

The two were silent until Angel glared up at Elisa from behind the twisted high bars

of his bike,

"Okay cop; you wanted to talk to me. So start talkin'."

Elisa looked down and kicked a tin can before blurting out,

"You dated my mom."

The leather clad gargoyle was taken aback,

"Okay…Well, way to make me feel old, I guess. Your mom got a name?"

"Diane…"

Angel's eyes widened,

"Diane Jelkins?"

"Well, it's Maza now, but…"

"Are you shittin' me? Diane the radical hippie's daughter is a cop?"

Angel snorted but soon turned serious, "How's she doin'? I tell you, if it wasn't

for her I woulda OD'd on smack and been dead and buried a long time ago…" the tan

gargoyle trailed off when he saw that there was something very serious still

troubling Elisa, "Alright, I'm guessing there's something else that you wanna talk

about."

Elisa slowly nodded, irrelevantly noticing how strange it was to hear a Gargoyle

speak with a Californian twang.

"Why were you attracted to my mother?"

"Huh? Jesus lady I was seventeen! Your mom was…" Angel fell silent, the awkwardness

of the whole situation finally hitting him, "Well she was a very hot chick, y'know?

And she seemed to dig me for whatever reason, and that was that, and why do you give

a fuck anyway?"

"Because…"

"Because your old man's that big purple dude?"

Elisa nodded again,

"That's great, a little fucked up, seeing as the big motherfucker outweighs you by a

solid sixty tons or so, but again, why are we having this conversation?"

"I'm worried that the only reason I love him is because of some weird fetish thing,

okay?!" Elisa suddenly shouted at the outlaw gargoyle.

Angel was silent for a long moment, before throwing his head back and guffawing,

"Man why the…hell…would you think something stupid …like that." he managed to gasp

out between bursts of laughter.

"Because I love him you bastard! I want to spend the rest of my life with him, and I

need to know that means something real!!"

Angel managed to choke back on his next outburst of laughter,

"Well, I still don't get why the fuck you wanted to talk to me, but seeing as you

just said some shit like that, what does it matter either way?"

"What!?"

"Just calm down and think, for Christ's sake. First off, I don't know where the fuck

you get your idea's, second, say that you only like this dude because of some weird

fetish, or 'cause he's got a big dick, or whatever; what the hell does it matter?

You love him, or at least that's what you just screamed at me, and you think he's

the 'one' as all the starry eyed chicks in the movies would say; why the hell does

anything else matter to you?"

"But…"

"Listen cop, I ain't the best person on the face of the planet to get relationship

advice from, but the shit you just yelled all seems like the symptoms of what they

call 'love' to me. And offhand, I think that's pretty goddamn 'real'."

Elisa was silent. Their was a certain gem of knowledge in Angels rambling advice;

or at least an angle that she hadn't considered. To understand her love for Goliath,

she would have to examine the very nature of love itself, and as the gruff biker

before her would put it; 'Fuck it.' Right now, Goliath was all she needed, and all

she wanted, and it would remain that way for a good long time.

Luckily for Elisa, she reached her conclusion's just before a half dozen red bolts

of laser light flashed from the darkness, turning Angel's truck into bright orange

fireball and illuminating the blues skinned, red haired gargoyle who was charging

towards them, her eyes flashing red and a banshee's wail of a battle cry on her

lips.

Elisa was thrown to the ground by the blast wave, but Angel was relatively well

shielded by the mass of his chopper.

"Shit fuck goddamn…" the gargoyle swore as he spotted Demona charging towards him.

In a lighting quick movement, Angel reached behind his colors and pulled his Colt

Python from a holster he wore in the small of his back.

Without further preamble he aimed the stainless steel barrel of the Python at the

blue gargoyles chest and squeezed off two shots.

The big three-fifty-seven magnum rounds instantly knocked Demona off her feet and

sprawled her across the ground. Keeping the heavy handgun trained on Demona, Angel

got to his feet and walked over to Elisa.

"You doin' okay, cop?" he asked,

Elisa stumbled to her feet, shaking her head in a vain attempt to get the ringing

out of her ears.

"I dunno…" Elisa looked up and saw Angel ease the hammer down on the huge revolver

he was carrying, un-cocking it. "Where's Demona?" Elisa suddenly asked.

"Oh I took care of that psycho," Angel smugly announced, spinning his handgun on his

finger before re-holstering the weapon, "Two rounds straight to the boiler, and down

she went!"

Elisa hopped to her feet, drawing her own weapon from the shoulder holster she was

wearing,

"Where is she?"

"Why…"

"Where!?"

"Jesus, she's over there…" Angel said, pointing to a spot on the gravel covered

ground that was covered in a large bloodstain, "Hey where'd she…oh shit. That's the

chick that doesn't die, isn't it?"

"Excellent guess, traitor!" Demona snarled from somewhere behind Angel and Elisa.

Without further preamble, Demona ran forward, landing a wild haymaker on Elisa that

sent the small human detective tumbling to the ground, quickly reducing the playing

field to just her and the Vikingz leader.

Angel snarled a curse and reached back for his revolver, but Demona tackled him

before his hand was halfway there.

Landing three quick and savage blows, Demona succeeded in stunning the biker long

enough to grab the Colt Python from behind his back and toss it away, after which

Demona scrambled to her feet and drew the mace she wore on her belt.

"Now you face me alone and fairly! Lets see how a thug like you can stand up to a

pure Gargoyle!" Demona growled, a cruel smile on her lips.

"Not fucking likely." Angel said, as he yanked a short barreled forty-five automatic

out of a holster that he wore on his ankle. He quickly fired two rounds at Demona,

but thanks to a combination of adrenaline, fear, and the blows to the head he had

just taken, both went wide of their target. Demona promptly leapt at the still

prone Angel, who emptied the last three round in the forty-fives magazine, but

unfortunately he only succeeded in winging Demona's cheek and putting a hole in her

thigh that briefly gushed blood, until the ragged edges of the bullet hole mended

themselves back together.

"Not good…" Angel said, rolling out of the way as Demona brought her mace crashing

down on the gravel where he had been laying. Pivoting quickly, Angel delivered a

kick to Demona's exposed ribs, knocking her back far enough to give him time to jump

to his feet and pull the trench knife from its sheath just under his vest.

Holding the knife blade downwards in his right hand, he fingers wrapped through the

anodized steel knuckle duster's on the hilt.

Demona looked at the knife at laughed, compared to her mace, what was a measly seven

inches of razor sharp steel?

She quickly found out, as Angel's blade darted at her chest faster than a striking

viper.

Barely dodging in time, Demona tried to bring her heavy mace down on the outlaws

arm, but Angel brought his limb back as fast as he had struck with it, before

launching a vicious slash that opened up Demona forearm most of the way to the

bone.

Snarling in pain, Demona made a clumsy attack with her left hand talons which Angel

deftly knocked aside, before wrapping the arm in a tight hold and flipping Demona

across his shoulder and slamming her into the gravel surface of the 'Cavern' floor.

A surprised Demona made a desperate attempt to knock the biker away as he slammed

his bulk down on her, but it was to no avail.

Angel rammed his blade into the Demona's neck and roughly sliced up and over,

leaving a ragged, bloody, four inch deep gash in its wake.

After snatching the mace from Demona temporarily lifeless finger's and throwing it

into the still burning wreck of the Vikingz' truck, Angel look around desperately,

at a loss as to what to do next.

His eyes settled on the Elisa, hwo was still on the ground but slowly coming back to

reality.

Sending a quick glance down at Demona throat, which was steadily mending back to its

none ravaged state, Angel ran as quickly as he could to Elisa's side.

"Wha?" the Detective groggily asked, but instead of saying anything, Angel

desperately tore open her jacket and grabbed at the leather hand cuff case on her

belt, intent on restraining the ferocious immortal before she fully recovered.

But Angel wasn't fast enough.

Growling and cursing, Demona awoke and got to her feet, her eyes focused on the

Vikingz president, the look on her face promising him a very slow and painful

death.

Angel promptly gave up his quest for the hand cuffs and snatched Elisa's Glock

handgun

off the ground instead.

Demona charged at Angel as he racked the slide on the handgun and aimed it at the

blue skinned terror charging towards him.

Angel emptied the clip inside of three seconds, and almost every round struck home

in Demona's torso and face.

But the light nine-millimeter bullets didn't even dent Demona's tough gargoyle flesh

and she kept her charge up at full speed, adding an enraged roar as she drew ever

closer to her opponent.

Desperate, Angel took the pistol in his hand by the barrel, barely noticing as the

hot barrel burned his hand, and threw it at Demona's head like a throwing axe.

The improvised projectile struck home, crashing into Demona's face at full force,

knocking her head to the side and stopping her rage fueled attack dead in its

tracks.

For the moment.

Shaking her head, Demona slowly turned back to face Angel.

To Demona's surprise she found herself facing a police-issue can of pepper spray in

the capable hands of a now standing Elisa Maza instead.

Elisa depressed the red nozzle on top, and a jet of yellow liquid splashed across

Demona's glowing red eyes, bringing with it a sudden and horrific burning pain that

instantly brought Demona to her knees. Elisa mercilessly knocked Demona's hands

away and kept spraying her face with the pepper spray, until the can was nearly

empty and emitting only a slow drip of liquid. After watching Demona writhe around

on the ground for awhile longer, Elisa scooped her handgun off the ground near by

and turned to look at Angel.

The biker was still crouched on the ground, staring at Elisa.

"Your pussy ass nine-milli almost got me killed, pig." The biker said, getting to

his feet and brushing dust and grit off his colors.

"Yeah, right." Elisa muttered, before dropping the magazine out of her empty

handgun and inserting a fresh one.

"So now what?" Angel asked, as he walked over to Elisa.

Elisa looked down at Demona, whose eyes were still covered in pepper spray.

It appeared that as fast as Demona eyes healed themselves and drove away the

stinging liquid, more pepper spray poured in and restarted the process.

Elisa thought about calling Goliath and the clan, but she'd left her communicator at

home. Along with her cell phone. Not good.

"You don't have a cell on you?" she asked Angel.

"Don't believe in 'em."

Elisa sighed, and looked over at Demona, who was slowly recovering from the pepper

spray. Elisa looked at her hand cuffs and shook her head. The stainless steel

restraints would hold Demona for all of about ten seconds.

"Hey cop, y'know we better get our asses outta here…"

"We?"

"I'm not walking this thing home!" Angel said, pointing to his chopper, "And you got

me into this mess!"

Deciding it was pointless to argue, Elisa waved her hand at the SUV

"Fine, throw the bike in the back of the truck."

Angel dropped the bike in the back of the SUV, picked his short barreled forty-five

off the gravel and hopped in, while Elisa slid behind the wheel and started the

engine.

'I hope no one see's me…' Elisa thought, looking over at her outlaw biker

passenger.

Judging from the look on Angels face, he was just as thrilled to be driving around

with a cop.

Without further preamble, Elisa dropped the big vehicle in drive and pulled away

from the blazing wreck and screaming immortal and sped into the inky blackness of

the Caverns.

After an hour of driving in awkward silence later, Elisa was headed down along

interstate 278 headed towards Brooklyn, which Angel had gruffly given as his return

destination, although the biker had given out the silent treatment when Elisa had

asked for more details. In fact, silence was something Angel was proving to be

remarkably adept at, and he had not spoken a word since his brief direction.

Elisa shook her head in annoyance; she had plenty of other questions to ask the

Vikingz leader, but his silence was making it very clear that he wasn't inclined to

talk anymore than he had already.

Elisa snapped back to reality when she heard the distinctive metallic *clink* of a

Zippo lighter being flicked open. Glancing over she saw that Angel had put a

cigarette in his mouth and getting ready to light up.

"Hey, don't light that!"

Angel glared over at her, "Why the hell not?"

"This isn't my car…"

"What are you, sixteen?"

"I still don't want it to smell like unfiltered Camels, okay?"

"I'll hold the damn thing out window, okay?" the biker said, rolling down his window

and continuing to ignite his cigarette.

"I said no smoking." Elisa coolly repeated.

"Back the hell off me, cop." Angel shot back, glaring even more darkly at Elisa, who

returned the gesture.

The SUV continued to roll down the highway, while its passengers continued to try

and stare each other down.

Angel broke first.

"Fine." he huffed, tossing his still unlit cigarette out the side window.

Before Elisa could exploit her moral victory, a new blast of laser fire burned into

the pavement alongside the speeding SUV.

"Godammit that bitch better not be back…" Angel barked, leaning out the window

and searching for a shooter as more laser bolts rained down at the SUV, "But she

is."

In the night sky above, Demona was gliding behind the speeding SUV, illuminated by

the red pulse of her laser rifle as she blazed away at Elisa and Angel.

Elisa slammed down on the accelerator and sped away, weaving through traffic and

darting across the highway, doing her level best to avoid Demona's laser fire.

Elisa turned and looked over at Angel, who was pulling his forty five out and

slapping in a fresh clip and racking the slide, chambering a round.

"She's out of range for that pop gun, you know."

"Yeah, well I got a feeling she's not gonna stay out of a range!"

"For our sake, lets hope she does."

As if on queue, Demona glided in closer to the speeding SUV, trying to get a better

shot.

Angel opened up with the small handgun, and after three shots let out a triumphant

shout as Demona tumbled out of the sky and towards the highway below.

"How do ya like that shit…ah crap." Demona's dive abruptly ended and she glided

upwards, where she resumed her attacks from a distance where Angel's bullets

wouldn't reach her. The biker slid back into his seat and changed magazines.

Elisa glanced over at him, then back at the road, and just barely managed to dodge

another string of laser blasts.

"Shit!"

"I think we better get offa this highway…" Angel opinioned, "Its only a matter of

time before she gets lucky with those."

"Yeah…" Looking around, Elisa spotted an exit, but blew by before she getting a

chance to get on it.

Elisa glanced at a highway sign; the next exit was in four miles. Four more miles of

relatively easy shots for Demona didn't seem like fun, and Elisa scrambled for a

solution. She quickly found one.

"Hang on, biker boy."

"What…"

Elisa suddenly pulled the SUV emergency brake, pulling it into a sharp one hundred

eighty degree turn , and sped trough oncoming traffic and down into an on ramp.

"Oh my fucking god you are totally fucking insane!" Angel shouted, but a grin spread

across his face as Elisa weaved through oncoming traffic and into the maze of New

York's streets.

"Did we lose her?" Elisa asked,

"Maybe…" a sudden burst of laser fire stitched across a nearby building, "But signs

point to no."

Elisa floored the SUV, but had to slam on the braked when the line of cars in front

of her came to a sudden stop. Elisa pooped the SUV in reverse and backed through a

nearby alley and onto another street, before shifting gears and accelerating away.

" Is Demona ba…", Before she could finish the question, Angel was leaning out the

window and blazing away with his forty five again.

A few second later, Angel was back inside the SUV, changing magazines, before once

again hoping back out and firing away.

But after firing two shots, he was back inside

"I'm out." He calmly proclaimed, tucking his forty five back into its ankle

holster.

After a moments hesitation, Elisa reached into her jacket and pulled out her Glock,

"Here, use this." She said, offering the weapon to the outlaw.

"Oh come on…" Angel sneered,

"You got a SAM or something over there, feel free to use it! Other wise…"Elisa held

her hand gun up,

"Fine."

Angel grabbed the gun, leaned out the side window, and began squeezing off rounds at

Demona.

A few seconds later, a few of the laser bolts Demona was firing at them hit the gas

tank of a nearby parked car, sending a bright fireball spilling across the road, and

causing Elisa to make a hard right, which bounced the SUV off the side of a passing

bus, which sent them careening down a side street and right at a rapidly approaching

brick wall.

Elisa awoke a few minutes later, with a loud buzzing in one ear and Angel's vivid

speculation of the sexual preferences of her chosen handgun in the other.

As Elisa slowly awoke, she looked up and saw that Angel was pulling her out from

behind the wheel of the SUV, which was crumpled into a nearby wall.

"Hey, you awake, cop?"

"Yeah…"

"Cool." Without further ado, Angel stood Elisa up on her feet and let go of her.

"Hey!" Elisa stumbled a little. but sheer anger and pride kept her from falling flat

on her face, "What the hell is your…" Elisa saw that Angel was no longer standing

anywhere near her. Looking around, she saw him picking his wrecked chopper up from

against a tree where it had been resting.

Letting out a disgusted 'hmmf' Elisa realized that Angel had saved his bike before

bothering with her. Typical.

"Well that was fun," Angel said, hefting his bike up onto his shoulders, "But I

think we better be moving on."

"To bad you won't be getting the chance…"

Elisa and Angel both quickly turned, and found Demona standing on a nearby rooftop

and staring at them over the sights of her laser rifle.

"Oh shit…" Angel dropped his motorcycle and hopped behind the trashed SUV and

Demona. Elisa followed suit, and found that Angel was busy pulling her handgun out

from under his leather vest.

"Hey give me that ba…" Elisa began, but Demona cut loose before she could finish the

sentence, the angry red bolts of light quickly reducing the SUV to glowing heap of

twisted metal.

"We gotta move before super bitch nails the damn gas tank." Angel said,

"Probably a good idea."

Elisa suddenly caught the sound of an approaching helicopter; a very fast helicopter

from the sound of it.

"Who the hell…"

A Quarrymen attack helicopter rounded the corner down the street, and dropped low as

it sailed towards the wrecked SUV and Demona.

Demona caught sight of the helicopter and turned towards it, bringing

her laser rifle around to a engage this new threat; but she was to slow. The attack

helicopter let loose with its machine guns, and Demon had to dive off the rooftop to

avoid a wall of armor piercing bullets that screamed towards her.

Spreading her wings Demona began to glide away at top speed, with the Quarrymen

attack chopper in hot pursuit.

"Oh you beautiful Nazi bastards! Go get her!" Angel shouted, waving his arms in

triumph as Demona was forced farther and farther away by the helicopters firepower

and speed.

"All righty then Detective, what now?" Angel asked Elisa as he handed her back the

handgun.

"Now, I get myself to phone and call someone to come get me, I don't know what your

gonna do…"

"Fine. See ya later." Angel hefted his motorcycle onto his shoulders and headed

off.

Elisa glared after him, but quickly realized she was making a mistake-there was now

ay Angel could make to a phone without someone spotting him and figuring out who he

was; after that the likelihood was that not even the ferociously violent biker could

stand up to a mob of gargoyle hating bigots and Quarrymen.

"Hey! Wait a second!"

Angel slowly turned,

"Yeah, cop, what is it?"

"My brother has a place not to far from here. If you want to go over there and wait

for your friends to come get you…"

"Your brother, huh? And exactly where is this place?" the biker asked, narrowing his

blue eyes suspiciously.

"Undergound." Elisa answered

"Underground?"

"Yeah. But you know, if you want to stay up here and take you chances with Demona

and the Quarrymen…"

Angel cocked his head, as if weighing his chances,

"Fine," he finally said, "But if you try anything, you're the first one I'm goin'

after."

Elisa laughed and ducked down a nearby alley, with Angel in tow.

Half an hour later, Angel dropped his wrecked chopper on the ground in front of a

factory building even more dilapidated than the warehouse the Vikingz were using as

a temporary base and let out a relieved gasp.

"Jesus…Christ…" the biker wheezed.

"That bike get a little heavy?" Elisa asked with a grin.

"Bite me, cop," Angel returned, before asking "So where's your brother anyway?"

"I'm sure he'll be along soon…"

"How could he know we're here?"

Suddenly, a tiger stripped mutate jumped down next to Elisa and her leather clad

companion.

"Holy shit!" Angel shouted, as he jumped back and pulled the trench knife out from

under his colors.

"Calm down Angel!" Elisa snapped as she moved between the mutate and the gargoyle,

"It's okay Claw," Elisa reassured the mutate, "He's just a bit jumpy is all."

Claw nodded and shrugged,

"Is my brother around?" Elisa asked,

Claw shook his head,

"Oh, okay. Hey, can we use the phone?"

Claw grinned and nodded, before heading into the run down factory through a side

door.

Elisa followed behind him, while Angel stood blinking for a few seconds, until he

sheathed his blade and fell in behind Elisa.

After a ride down a hidden elevator shaft with Elisa and Claw, Angel stepped out

into the upper tier of the Labyrinths huge common area.

"Wow," Angel said in wonderment as he looked out at the subterranean community

spread out before him, "This isn't something you see everyday."

"Phones this way…" Elisa said, motioning for Angel to follow her.

Winding their way through the labyrinth, Elisa and Claw soon noticed that Angel

was getting quite a few stares from the general population; they were used to seeing

mutates and clones, and even the occasional gargoyle, but the sight of Angel in full

Vikingz biker gear seemed to be putting many people into a mild state of shock and

scaring the hell out of everyone else.

Angel, for his part, seemed to enjoy the effect he was having.

A few minutes later, the trio stopped in front of the labyrinths living room,

"Phones in there", Elisa said, "Call your gang."

"First off, it's a club, not a gang, and second," Angel cocked his head, "I need to

tell them where the fuck I am, don't I?"

Red with embarrassment, Elisa gave Angel a quick rundown of where they were and how

to get there.

Angel nodded, pushed open the door to the living room and went inside.

Looking around, Angel spotted the phone sitting on an end table and went over to

pick it up.

"Fucking great…" he said, when he picked it up and heard the welcome sound of a dial

tone. He quickly set the phone back in its cradle however, when he realized he wasn't

alone in the room. He turned around and found himself looking at a female gargoyle

with white hair and skin color that was an exact match with the police detective

he'd spent most of the night with.

"Umm…hi." Angel said, a bit confused,

The white haired gargoyle hesitated for a few moments before answering,

"Hello…my names Delilah."

Angel cocked an eyebrow ridge,

"Okay, well my names Angel, Delilah. Now, at the risk of sounding like a complete

asshole to one of the most beautiful chicks I've ever seen, would you mind going

outside while I call my brothers?"

Delilah's eyes went wide, as if the other gargoyles cavalier remark was one of the

most shocking things she'd ever heard,

"I'd rather stay here."

Instead of getting standoffish, Angel simply asked

"Why?"

"I don't like being around the others…" Delilah looked at the concrete floor of the

living room, "I'm not good like they are."

Angel closed his eyes and took a deep breath,

"Oookay. Alright fine, stay here. Its no big deal, I guess."

"Thank you."

Angel picked the phone up again and dialed.

Across town, in one of the cities dingiest biker bars, a cell phone began to ring,

A blond biker with a greasy fringe of beard outlining his jaw reached inside his

leather vest and pulled out his phone,

"Skagg here…what?...aw man, are you serious? Fine, hey gimme a second," Skagg looked

around the bar until he saw he saw a pale skinned biker with a Vikingz patch hanging

out by the bar, "Hey Gothic, get over! The Chief needs us to pick him up!"

"What happened to the truck?"

"Just get over here…"

An hour later, Angel watched as an Explorer four by four the Vikingz had 'rented'

for their stay in New York pulled up to the dilapidated factory that concealed the

Labyrinths main entrance.

As the SUV slid to a stop, Angel hefted his wrecked Harley and headed towards it,

"Well cop, it's been fun. But I better get home before bedtime." Angel called over

his shoulder,

"See you later, dirt bag." Elisa muttered, before heading back inside.

Above her, peering through a grimy window, another woman watched the biker's

departure of the biker with keen interest.

"Bye, Angel." Delilah said, as she watched the explorer's red taillights head away

into the city.


	14. Chapter 14

Despite what the cops might have to say, I have no connection to the Pagans,

Outlaws, or Hells Angels, and I use their names and insignia without permission.

Leaning against the cornices of the tower, Elisa stifled a yawn as she waited for

the sun to sink below the horizon and release the huge gargoyle crouched on the

parapet from his stone prison.

"Could have used more sleep today, that's for sure…" Elisa muttered to herself; but

after explaining to her father why she had plowed his Tahoe into the side of

building, and why she had left the scene of the wreck, she'd spent the rest of the

night making up a plausible story to give the officers who had responded to either

the crash or the reports of gunfire, attack helicopters, or laser wielding

gargoyles.

Needless to say, the sun had been very high in the sky by the time she had got back

to her apartment and collapsed on the bed.

But as night reached out to claim New York, the gargoyle on the parapet roared to

life, and Elisa didn't feel tired at all.

"My Elisa, I'm…" Goliath, began, smiling as he turned to find his love standing

behind him, but the smile froze when he spotted the small bandages on Elisa's face.,

"Elisa, what happened?" he said, jumping down form the cornices and rushing to the

small human woman's side.

"I'm fine, Goliath." Elisa said, wrapping an arm reassuringly around Goliath's

massive waist, "Better than fine, actually…"

A ghost of a smile returned to Goliath's lips,

"So I take it you've found the answers to the questions that bothered you so much?"

Elisa laughed,

"More like I realized the question's themselves were idiotic…" Elisa shook her head,

"I just needed some help to realize it."

Goliath put his arms across Elisa's shoulder and the two began to head down the

tower stairs together to join the rest of the clan.

Halfway down the first flight, Goliath asked Elisa,

"And who helped you that realization, Elisa?"

'And this is the part', Elisa thought, 'Where he freaks out.'

"Angel."

"What!?" goliath stopped dead, "How could that brute and his senseless disregard for

decency…"

"Goliath, I couldn't tell you why I felt I needed to talk to him...but I did. And he

helped me."

Goliath seemed to calm down,

"I trust your judgment, my love; but if you wouldn't mind, could you tell me what

happened?"

Elisa was silent for awhile,

"Of course I can big guy…" Elisa finally said, beginning to retell the events of the

previous night for what felt like the umpteenth time.

Across town in the labyrinth, two ragged teenagers were eagerly recounting the

visitor

who had shown up the night before,

"Did you see that gargoyle?"

"He was hard to miss, man! He looked mean as hell…"

"Yeah, but he was all dressed up like a biker, what was that about?"

"I dunno…hey, maybe it has something to do with those Quarrymen who got stomped a

few weeks ago."

"Yeah, maybe…hey there's Talon, lets ask him! Yo Talon!" The teenager shouted at

black furred mutate,

"Hey Tim, what is it?" Talon asked,

"Was that big biker gargoyle who was in here last night part'a the crew that messed

up those Quarry-assholes awhile back?"

Talon looked confused,

"What big biker gargoyle?"

"You know, the big tan one, haven't seen him before but…hey what did it say on the

back of his vest?" Tim asked his friend,

"Vikingz." She supplied, "With a helmet and crossed axes too…"

"Wait, the gargoyle wearing that was in here the other night?"

"Uh, yeah…he was wit' yer sister I think…"

Talon closed his eyes and took a deep breathe,

"If you kids will excuse me, I need to make a telephone call," Without another word,

Talon whirled and stalked down a tunnel, towards the labyrinths living room.

"I wonder what's got him so pissed off?" Tim asked,

His friend could only shrug.

Talon shoved open the door to the living room and headed for the phone, barely

noticing that Delilah was seated in front of the computer Elisa and his mother had

found for the Labyrinth.

Picking up the receiver, Talon punched out the number to Elisa's cell phone and

waited for a ring tone.

He got a recording instead, Elisa smooth voice asking for him to leave a message,

"Hey Elisa, Derek here; gimme a call ASAP." Slamming down the receiver, Talon shook

his head and sat down on the weathered couch to wait for his sister to return his

call.

"Talon…" Delilah asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Talon was surprised Delilah had spoken to him; the clone seemed to have been

maintaining an almost shamed air of silence when she was around Talon and the other

mutates lately,

"Yeah?"

"What's a biker?"

"Do what now?"

"What's a biker?" Delilah repeated, slightly louder than before.

"Umm, well…what kind of biker?"

"The kind that Angel is."

"Oh an outlaw…" Talon was somewhat curious as to why Delilah wanted to know, but

decided it would be best to keep talking and see if he could draw Delilah out of her

adopted solitude instead of asking questions, "An outlaw biker is a criminal on a

motorcycle."

"Oh…are these outlaws?" Delilah asked, pointing to the computer screen, which

displayed a menacing looking winged skull and a photo spread of bikers wearing Hells

Angels patches.

"Uh yeah, their Hells Angels Delilah their kinda the worst of the worst…what website

is this anyway?"

"Hells Angels dot com."

"Huh. Okay, yeah so…Angels the same kind of…person as these guys, big, mean, and

criminal."

"But why is he a criminal?"

"I don't know Delilah; but he is, for whatever reason."

Delilah shook her head and looked confused

"But he seemed nice..."

"Goddamn fucking trigger happy cocksucking paranoid pigfucking sonsabitches…"

"Now tell us how you really feel chief."

"Go fuck yourself Billy." Angel snarled at his fellow Viking, before returning his

attention to the wreck spread across the ground in front of him.

The tall blond Viking who had been needling him shook his head and sighed,

"That frame is shot, the forks are toast, front wheels bent almost triple…"

"…Brake'sr in three pieces, battery's smashed, gas tank is split down the middle,

fenders are history, and the bars look like a fucking Christmas ribbon." Angel

finished Billy's assessment, then snarled and kicked a box of parts over, scattering

them across the cracked concrete of the Vikingz' warehouse.

"We SHOULD have wasted some of those Quarrymen!"

'Hey chief, at least most of the internal shit is still okay; I mean the engine

oughta work fine, fuel systems alright, and except for the battery, the electrical

is good too…"

"Yeah well, the fucking thing still won't move."

"Well if we take the engine and most a the guts outta this thing and put 'em on

Tramps scoot, he should be able to get his machine runnin'."

"Yeah," With a last mournful look at what remained of his once pristine Harley

chopper,

Angel turned and shouted, "TRAMP!"

A short, pudgy Viking sauntered over, "Yeah?" he asked the tan gargoyle biker

captain,

"Congrats, you just got yourself a new engine…"

"Great, so I can ditch my shovel-head for some antique POS from the sixties…thanks

chief!"

"Oh what, you don't want working bike?"

"No, no, no…" Tramp said, moving to stand protectively over the engine parts strewn

about the ground, "Beggars can't be choosers."

"Hey don't worry chief, worst comes to worse, you can just use that jap bike you

boosted…" Billy said, pointing to what remained of the Honda ST-1100 Angel had used

to escape the Eyrie, which between the damage from the escape and the Vikingz using

it for target practice wasn't much.

"That's nice Billy, very funny. But guess what?" Angel grinned and leaned close to

the blond bikers face, "You just volunteered to let me borrow your bike until

further notice…" Angel reached into the pocket of Billy's vest and pulled out his

keys, before stalking off to the line of bikes against the far wall of the

warehouse.

"Is he serious?" a confused Billy asked Tramp.

Tramp laughed,

"As a heart attack bro; you gotta learn, the Chief gets sensitive about his

bikes…but don't worry he'll calm down and give you the bike back by tomorrow…"

Billy nodded, but took on a pained expression as he watched Angel leap on the back

of his black Harley Springer, start it up, and roar out of the warehouse doors,

closely followed by seven other Vikingz.

Soaring high above the city, Brooklyn, Angela and Broadway, kept their keen eyes

pointed at the ground, looking for any sign of trouble.

"It seems like a pretty quiet night…" Broadway said, "Nothings going down at all."

"Your right…" Brooklyn shook his head, "Not a good sign."

"Why is that, Brooklyn?" Angela asked,

"Its Saturday night in Manhattan, there should at least be a couple crack heads

after an old ladies purse or something…" Brooklyn swung his head up and scanned the

horizon, "Well I don't see any Quarrymen helicopters, giant airships, or all

powerful supreme beings bent on destruction, so maybe there's just something normal

about to happen, like a riot…or a bombing…or a gang war…"

Angela looked over at the red hued gargoyles and rolled her eyes,

"You kids…no respect for your elders," Brooklyn said, before turning to Broadway, "I

don't know where they went wrong with her generation but…what?"

"Umm…I think I know why everything's so quiet tonight." Broadway said, pointing

downwards.

Below them, stretching for a good two miles, were three hundred Harley's riding in

perfect formation down Jefferson Avenue.

"Oh boy…" Brooklyn breathed, as he caught sight of the colorful three piece patches

most of the riders were flying, "Well, tonight just got interesting."

"We should call the rest of the clan…" Angela said, reaching for her communicator,

"Why? These guys aren't doing anything wrong."

"But…"

"He's right Angela." Broadway said, agreeing with the clan second, "But maybe we

should follow them, just to be safe…" he quickly amended as his mate to be sent him

a glare that reminded him of her father.

"My thoughts exactly," Brooklyn said, dipping lower to the ground, to where he could

hear the loud rumble of exhaust from the huge pack of outlaw Harleys.

The three gargoyles trailed the patch wearing pack for blocks, until they stopped in

front of…a Cathedral.

"What the hell?" Brooklyn said, as he watched the bikers climb off their bikes and

gather in neat groups, before being led into the church by a man in the ceremonial

robes of a Cardinal.

The three gargoyles landed on a rooftop nearby and watched in shock as the crowd of

bikers continued to quietly and calmly walk into the huge stone Cathedral.

The three were still staring in wide eyed awe when a new voice came from behind

them, causing them all to spin around in surprise,

"Why the fuck are you spying on the Catholic Motorcycle Association?" Angel demanded

from behind them.

"How the hell did…" Broadway began,

"Uh-ah, you answer my question first, then I might answer yours."

"We saw the patches…I thought outlaws wore patches?" Brooklyn said,

Angel snorted in amusement, before walking over to stand next to the three Wyvern

gargoyles, "Did you try reading the patches?...lets see here, Jesus' Love MC, oh

yeah, real hardass club they are, God Messengers, right, real scary bunch…oh and

look almost everyone has a cross or a picture of Jesus for a main insignia!" Angel

laughed scornfully,

before heading back across the roof, "Tell you what, If you wanna see some outlaws,

just follow me and the boys…" Angel said, before leaping off the roof and onto a

fire escape.

Rushing over, Angela looked down, and spotted seven Vikingz waiting below alongside

a row of Harleys.

"Well, what do you wish to do?" Angela asked Brooklyn,

"Me?"

"It IS your patrol Brook." Broadway pointed out.

"Well…it's a slow night so we might as well go see what there is to see."

As soon as he finished talking, there was a roar from the alley as eight Harley

Davidson's roared to life and the Vikingz pulled onto the street, speeding past the

line of bikes parked in front the church, ignoring the waves the few bikers who

remained outside.

"Come on!" Brooklyn shouted as he leapt off the roof and glided after the Vikingz.

With a shrug to Angela, Broadway followed suit.

Angela hesitated slightly before reaching for her communicator and heading after

Broadway and Brooklyn.

On the street below, Skagg pulled his bike close to Angel's and shouted over the

roar of the straight pipe exhausts,

"Hey chief, what the fuck are we doing? I thought we were going for a quick ride

around the city?"

"We were… but screwing around with these hero type's," Angel stabbed a thumb up at

the sky to show who he meant, "That's an opportunity one can never pass up."

Skagg let out a short bark of laughter.

"You say so boss…so where we headed?"

Angel just grinned and shifted his bike into high gear.

Skagg shifted his own bike and hurried to catch up, but as he did, he felt the cell

phone he kept in his vest begin to vibrate…

"Where is this outlaw taking us?" Angela wondered, as they followed the Vikingz pack

past the clan's territory in Manhattan and into the sprawling borough that gave

Brooklyn his name.

"Hey, it looks like their pulling over up there…" Broadway said, pointing at the

Vikingz.

The three gargoyles all dropped lower, following the Vikingz down a side street and

into a back alley.

As they landed, Angel pulled his borrowed Harley Springer up next to them,

"Change in plans kids," he said, "I was gonna take you down to the Angels clubhouse

in Brooklyn and lay a shock on you, but something else has come up. You guys better

head on back to your turf."

"What?"

"Trust me." Angel shook his head, "You want no part in what we're ridin' into."

"But…" Brooklyn began, but was cut off as Angel gunned his bike and headed out of

the alley, closely followed by the other Vikingz.

The three gargoyles were left standing around and choking on exhaust fumes, until

Angela turned to Brooklyn,

"So are we to take the brutes advice, or shall we see what they're up to?"

"Well…umm…"

"I dunno Brook…I think it might be a better idea to follow 'em and at least find out

what their up to."

"I also think that is an excellent idea," a deep voice rumbled from above,

"What the…" Brooklyn, Angela, and Broadway looked up to find Goliath watching them

from the rooftop of one of the buildings that bordered the alley,

"How'd you…" Brooklyn started to ask, but Goliath cut him off,

"It doesn't matter. However, you and I will have a talk later about keeping the

whole clan informed of your whereabouts…especially when one is dealing with a loose

cannon like that biker." Goliath fixed Brooklyn with a hard stare before continuing,

"But for now, we had better get on the trail of those Vikingz. Lexington is following

them, but they might be hard to track."

With that Goliath moved away from the edge of the roof, before leaping of the and

taking to the air.

Sending a hurt look at Angela and Broadway, Brooklyn climbed up the side of the

building to take flight as well, closely followed by the rest of his patrol.

after gliding high into the air, the spotted Goliath in the distance, and farther

beyond that a distant spot that could only be Lexington.

"Lets go!" Brooklyn shouted, as he hurried to catch up.

Three blood stained vests were laid out on the time worn asphalt of the small

parking lot; one was denim, two were leather.

The denim vest bore a red, blue and white insignia, and the name 'Pagans' in blue

Old English lettering, over a sword wielding demon perched on a flaming horizon.,

with the letters M and C beneath that.

The two leather vests each had an identical three piece patch-a grinning skull over

crossed engine pistons, with the 'OUTLAWS' in white lettering above, and 'New York'

below.

The three blood stained patches were surrounded by about twenty-seven bikers, all of

them wearing vests bearing either the same insignia as those laid out on the ground

or another equally intimidating patch; a grinning, winged skull wearing a motorcycle

helmet, along with a top rocker reading 'Hells Angels'.

"I'm telling you ya dumb piece of shit, we didn't have nothing to do with this!" One

of the Hells Angels was shouting at a bald headed biker wearing a Pagans patch,

"Fuck you Tony!" the Pagan shouted back, "You know anyone else in this city who'd

have a reason to take a shot at us an' the Outlaws?"

"He's got a point Tony." A huge, hairy Outlaw said, "But I'm still not convinced it

was the HA who blasted on us."

"Jimmy, Mojo's right…why would the Hells Angels wanna start some shit with us?" a

fat Pagan pointed out.

"Gut who the hells side are you on? Razz is fuckin' dead man! And I want some

fucking pay back!" Jimmy turned and stalked closer to the knot of Hells Angels, who

bristled and reached for whatever weapons they had on them.

However, the brawl was averted when a deafening roar from eight sets of straight

pipes burst unto the small back lot the bikers were convened on.

"Calm the fuck down, Jimmy!" Angel roared, his eyes flashing a phosphorescent white

as he leapt off his bike.

The enraged Pagan broke off his advance and sullenly moved back to stand with his

club.

The other Vikingz dismounted their bikes and moved to stand between the three

outlaws clubs. Angel stood dead center and examined the three blood soaked patches.

"What the fuck happened?" Angel said, looking around at the three club presidents,

Silence.

"We uh…don't really know." The Outlaws president admitted.

"But they know enough to blame my club!" The Hells Angels President snarled,

"Hey Tony…shut up." Angel said, glaring at the Hells Angels leader.

"Hey, where's that Mongol sonofabitch? He saw what went down." Jimmy, the Pagans

president shouted.

A gray haired and grizzled biker wearing a leather vest with a black and white patch

on the back depicting a mongol warrior on a chopped Harley under the title 'MONGOLS'

was shoved to the front of the crowd.

Angel sized him up,

"Blue, what the fuck are you doing up here in New York?" Angel demanded,

"Well I was just visiting some buddies of mine, until some ass hole pulled up

outside the bar we were hanging out in the other day and opens up on us from a car

window."

"You get a good look at him?" Angel asked,

Blue shook his head,

"After Razz and Al got tagged, I dove for cover behind my bike." Blue stopped and

scratched his head, "Come to think of it, I did see the shooter for a second…he had

on a mask though, but the mask had something on it; a crest like…seemed kinda

familiar, but I can't figure out were I saw it before."

"You might wanna figure it out Blue; and quick or theses guys are gonna rip each

other to shreds."

Angel turned to say something to the three club presidents, but before he could

speak, a loud crash echoed across the parking lot and a green skinned gargoyle

dropped off a rooftop and onto the parking lot full of outlaw bikers.

"What the fuck?", the question came from a dozen men, with slight variations.

The bikers stared in surprise as Broadway stumbled to his feet, and was quickly

joined on the ground by Angela, Goliath, Brooklyn and Lexington.

"The hell are they doing here?" Jimmy shouted, reaching under his shirt for his

pistol.

"I got this…" Angel said, waving off Jimmy and other bikers who had reached for

their guns at the sight of the unfamiliar gargoyles, and stormed across the lot

towards the clan.

"What the hell did I tell you?" Angel hissed when he was close to Brooklyn and

Goliath,

"This isn't any of your fucking concern!"

Goliath stood straight and glared at Angel,

"Anything that threatens the people of our protectorate is our concern," he rumbled,

"And whatever your friends over there do to seek your vengeance, will be a very great

threat to those people indeed."

Angel shrugged,

"In all likelihood, your absolutely right." Angel cocked his head and motioned

Goliath aside, "I tell you what, if you've got a way that'll keep these guys from

killing each other or anyone else, tell me now."

Slightly taken aback, Goliath stammered a reply as he followed Angel away from his

clan to a point halfway between them and the assembled outlaw clubs.

"I don't like this…" Angela murmured to Brooklyn, who nodded in agreement as he

watched Angel and Goliath converse in low tones, meanwhile, Lex was looking at

Broadway and shaking his head,

"So how the hell did you fall down here?"

"I was leaning against the brick wall around the up there and…it broke"

Lexington chuckled,

"Oh man, you need to lose some weight!"

"Hey, I'm the only one here with a girlfriend!" Broadway shot back.

Halfway across the lot, Angel appeared to be listening intently to what Goliath was

saying,

"…vengeance only begets vengeance, my young friend. What's needed here are level

heads and intelligent decisions."

"Yeah, but what if we just kill all of 'em?"

"What!?" Goliath was horrified,

"It wouldn't be to hard; we track down these shooters, wipe 'em out…after that

anybody who might go looking for payback is gonna be to shit scared even think about

looking for payback."

Goliath blinked hard, not believing that any Gargoyle save Demona or Thailog could

be so brutal. He was still working up a reply when Angel glanced back at his fellow

Vikingz and gave a nearly imperceptible nod.

"Listen big G, I appreciate everything you're saying, but right now, what we need

most is unity…and unfortunately , nothing unites us outlaws quite like a common

enemy."

Angel reached in the pocket of his duster and wrapped his fingers through his brass

knuckles, getting ready to deliver a sweet, sharp sucker punch to the larger

gargoyles kidneys.

"Hey waitaminute!" Someone shouted, and both Angel and Goliath turned to see Blue,

the lone Mongols member, push through the crowd of bikers and look at Goliath and

the other gargoyles of the Manhattan clan, "I now were I seen that crest

before…what's the name of that bunch that wants to wipe you guys out?" he asked

Goliath.

"The Quarrymen?"

"That's right! They have, like a silver or gold hammer for a symbol right?"

"Yes…"

"It was them!" Blue shouted, turning to the assembled bikers, "The Quarrymen did

it!"

Jimmy cracked a wolfish grin, before turning to his Pagans,

"Mount up boys! Its payback time!"

The Pagans shouted with bloodthirsty zeal and started to get on their bikes and

roll out of the parking lot and unto the streets.

Goliath watched the biker's pull away for a moment before turning to his clan and

shouting,

"Hurry, we must stop them!",

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Angel snarled, grabbing Goliaths arm to

restrain him.

"We're going to have to stop them before…"

"…before they do what they have too?" Angel shook his head, "Fair's fair Goliath;

these Quarryfucks screw with us, they'd better be ready for the fuckin'

consequences!"

"And you have no problem with whatever vengeance these Pagans will seek?"

"It's there fucking decision man, not mine. And it sure as hell isn't your business

to stop them from doing what they need to; one of their brothers is dead, and

someone's gonna have to pay the price."

"And if they exact retribution, what will keep the Quarrymen from doing the same in

return?"

"The Pagans can deal with that if it happens."

"And what will the innocent people who might get caught in this vendetta do?"

Angel shrugged his leather clad shoulders,

"Shit happens."

Goliath looked shocked, then angry at Angel's callous disregard for the lives of the

innocent.

"How can you…why…" Goliath couldn't quite get any words out of his mouth, but the

questions were easy enough to understand,

"How can I not give a shit about anyone? Why do I act like this?" Angel laughed

scornfully, "I do give a shit about a great many people Goliath, just not the Joe

Six-pack and Ellie Soccer Mom city dwellers and suburbanites you seem hell bent on

getting yourself killed for. I give a shit about my own kind, because no one else

seems too. I'd do ANYTHING to protect them from ANY threat…and right now, the

closest threat is you."

Angel quickly brought out the brass knuckles and slammed them into the flesh above

Goliaths kidney, finally delivering the sucker punch he had been waiting to give.

Goliath folded over at the sudden searing agony that shot form his abdomen, then

collapsed to the ground under another blow Angel fetched to the side of his face.

The clan immediately rushed forward to protect Goliath, and Angel promptly gave

Goliath one sharp kick to the side and charged towards them as well, closely

followed by the seven other Vikingz.

The fifteen or so Hells Angels and Outlaws left in the parking lot hesitated

slightly, the followed the Vikingz into the fray.

Meanwhile, Angel had found himself set upon by Angela and Broadway almost

simultaneously, and was becoming hard pressed to stand his ground.

Ducking a slash form Angela's talons, Angel punched Broadway in the pit of the

stomach, the brass knuckles on his fist sinking into the paunchy gargoyles belly.

Broadway doubled over, but before Angel could duplicate the KO method he'd used on

Goliath, Angela caught him with a roundhouse kick to the head which sent the biker

sprawling unto the ground, dazed.

Before Angela had a chance to make anything of her sudden advantage, she was set

upon by Skagg and another Vikingz member; a dark skinned behemoth whose arms were

covered in old East LA street gang tattoos and newer Vikingz insignia.

The smaller Viking, Skagg, turned out to be the more dangerous of the two, neatly

dodging any blow Angela sent at him while aiming lighting fast blows at her any

chance he got.

He also turned out to be a distraction, as Angela suddenly found herself grabbed

from behind and her arms pinned by the other Vikingz member.

Struggling savagely, Angela desperately tried to shake off the iron grip, but found

she couldn't quite get out,

"Hurry up, Skagg! This bitch is STRONG!" the huge Viking shouted,

"Yeah, yeah…" Skagg darted in, his fist raised to deliver a quick finishing blow,

but Angela's right leg shot out and landed a solid blow on the Vikingz vice

presidents head, knocking him out cold. As the Skagg tumbled to the pavement, Angela

felt the vice grip on her arms loosen and she jumped free of the huge Viking.

Turning, she found Broadway standing over the now unconscious Viking with an

embarrassed expression on his face,

"Sorry it took me so long…"

Angela opened her mouth to reply, but the pair were suddenly set upon by a mixed

bunch of Vikingz, Hells Angels, and Outlaws, and the tide of battle swept them

apart.

Nearby, Brooklyn was standing over the sprawled form's of two Outlaws and a Vikingz

member, but he was losing ground to the four Hells Angels he was currently facing,

while Lexington was currently doing his level best to not simply be bulled over by

Tony, Mojo, and Smalls; the Vikingz' huge Sergeant at Arms.

The fight wore on; three more bikers hit the ground, but more quickly took their

place.

The bikers, experienced at the art of the street fight, knew better then to all

commit at once, as too many brawlers against one target would just get in each

others way.

So slowly but surely, the gargoyles were being worn down, while the bikers staid

relatively fresh.

But then, an enraged roar echoed across the battlefield and Goliath got to his feet,

shaking his head to clear it and looking around with glowing eyes for the nearest

target to vent his frustrations on.

"Oh, shit…" Angel murmured, from the center of the pack of bikers that had been

fighting Angela and Broadway.

The Vikingz president shoved his way towards Goliath, pulling out the steel drive

chain he wore around the hem of his vest as he went.

In the meantime, Goliath had sent three Outlaws flying across the pavement with one

massive arm and leveled two Hells Angels as he made his way back towards his clan.

He made it back quickly, and laid into the three bikers who had been attacking

Lexington.

Tony recognized a fight he couldn't win and backed off to keep Lexington occupied

while Mojo and Smalls unhesitatingly charged Goliath.

Even in his rage fueled state, Goliath found the huge bikers to be tough opponents,

especially when Mojo pulled a huge combat knife from his belt and demonstrated he

knew how to use it.

Taking that as a signal, the rest of the remaining bikers began to pull their own

weapons,

and what had been a brawl now became a fight for life as the clan suddenly faced an

arsenal of knives, guns, and other bits of assorted nastiness.

The gargoyles quickly found themselves pressed into the mouth of an Alley, with a

wall of gawkers forming at the other end.

Goliath winced as a bullet zipped past his head and impacted a wall in the alley,

just in front of the crowd of spectators,

"Goliath, I think it might be time to go!" Brooklyn shouted, as he snatched a Smith

and Wesson form the hands of a Hells Angel and clouted by the biker over the head

with it.

Goliath snarled; he hated to run form a fight but Brooklyn had the right of it.

Sooner or later the fight would spill unto the street beyond, and the crowd of

bystanders would be in even greater danger. Besides, Goliath had spotted the Hells

Angels president talking on his cell phone towards the back of the crowd of bikers

and there was no doubt in Goliaths mind that he was calling for reinforcements, and

Goliath was not excited about the prospects of facing another wave of bikers that

fought as ferociously as these.

"Go! Escape down the alley and unto the street! take to the skies and meet back at

the Eyrie."

The clan quickly retreated down the alley, past the now scattering group of gawking

New Yorkers, and unto the streets beyond. Goliath remained for awhile, doing his best to hold off the bikers single

handedly, but eventually he to retreated, pursued by the taunts of the handful of

bikers still in fighting condition.

"Fucken'a!" Mojo shouted, holstering his blade, "Fucking gargs no better to mess

with the one percent now, man!" he slapped Tony on the back. The Hells Angels

president raised an eyebrow and shook his head as he surveyed the battlefield. It

was strewn with unconscious bikers and a lesson that was quite the opposite of the

one the Outlaws president seemed to be getting, For damn sure, his charter of the

Hells Angels were NEVER going to screw with the Manhattan gargoyles again.

"Messenger!" Tony shouted at one of his few remaining conscious comrades, 'Get

everybody woke up and back on there bikes, we gotta blow outta here before the cops

show up!"

"Sure thing prez."

Mojo looked up form his victory celebration in surprise, then gave a similar set of

orders to the Outlaws.

Tony walked over to Angel, who was mustering the Vikingz by their bikes,

"Was all this shit really necessary?" he asked the tan gargoyle.

Angel sighed,

"Yeah bro, it was, if they'd stopped Jimmy from doing whatever it was he wants to

do, he'd have gone berserk and tried to waste them, and gotten his ass kicked most

likely.

So he'd buy a shitload of firepower and level half the city going after the gargs

and the Quarrymen. And after that, hey presto, there every MC in the state staring

down the sights of an ATF task force and an army of rat mother fucker under covers

trying to infiltrate us." Angel shook his head, "As it stands, he'll kill maybe

three or four Quarrymen and just get his own raggedy ass busted, along with his

charters."

Tony nodded in agreement,

"Okay man, but lets hope that Jimmy doesn't do anything to dramatic.

Across town in Manhattan, a dozen Quarrymen were arrayed around a small podium on a

street corner, on which a speaker was bust haranguing a small crowd that had

gathered despite the late hour.

"Friends, neigbors! There is a threat in this city, the like of which has never been

seen!"

he was shouting, "It grows larger every day, it grows larger even now, as I speak to

you! It poisons the mind's of our children with fear and horror, it turns the

streets of out cities with bloody violence at every turn! We need to…" the speaker

stopped talking as a white SUV slid to s atop in front of the podium and something

poked out the side window;

it took him s a second to realize what it was , but the distant memories from a

rotting jungle, far far away from here quickly came back and he realized he was

staring down the front sights of an M-60 light machine gun.

The gun started to fire, its clanking roar heralding the approach of the death it

spewed back and forth across the podium and the crowd in front of it.

After ten seconds of continual firing, the weapon fell silent and the SUV pulled

away, driving slowly, like the driver didn't have a care in the world.

Back on the stage, the Quarrymen speaker looked down at the ragged, bloody hole that

had been his stomach and laughed, bring forth a bloody froth from his lips.

How funny it was, he thought, that the stuttering demon that had haunted his dreams

since he first heard it outside Hue city in Vietnam would come back to kill him now

that he lived in the country that had spawned it…how very…funny…indeed…


	15. Chapter 15

Y'know, I really shoulda mentioned this earlier…1% is set after 'The Journey' and I'm completely ignoring the rest of 'The Goliath Chronicles'…as should any other sentient being on the planet.

The screaming started with the morning news shows.

i"Nine people are dead and four others are injured after the worst shooting in the cities history last night…"

"…some of the victims were involved with the citizens group known as the Quarrymen, or were watching a speech being given by a Quarrymen speaker…"

"…it is unknown at this time whether this attack has any connections to the murder of three outlaw bikers outside of a Brooklyn bar Thursday night…" /i

The silent shouts of the newspaper headlines added to the din;  
i"Massacre! Nine dead in an assault on the Quarrymen!" /iScreamed the New York Times, with USA today bringing the news nationwide with the comment;  
i"Bloody retaliation in New York, where sources say an apparent conflict between the Quarrymen and two outlaw motorcycle gangs has left twelve dead on the streets…" /i

But the whole situation was summed up by neatly by a bleary eyed Matt Bluestone over his morning routine of black coffee and the CNN morning show,

"This is not good…" the red haired detective muttered, shaking his head.

Across town in the Vikingz temporary hangout, Angel was nursing a black eye and watching a gray haired biker bandage up the five Vikingz who had been busted up in the fight with the Manhattan Clan the night before.

"Remind me never to pick a fight with a half dozen gargoyles again, okay Tramp?" Angel said, shaking his head, then wincing as the action caused a sharp jolt of pain to shoot though his battered face.

"Yeah. I'll be sure and remember that." Tramp sighed and turned his attention back to his motorcycle, which was still in the process of having a new motor attached, "Kinda glad I missed out on this, bro…"

"Yeah, don't blame you." Angel laughed, "And I'm thinking we shouda just let those pricks go and kick the shit outta Jimmy, and skipped ithis/i mess entirely." Angel said, reading the headlines on the paper spread out on the battered coffee table in front of him.  
"Looks like Jimmy kinda went apeshit." Jesse, another Vikingz member, said as he walked over.

"That fuckin' idiot is gonna get every outlaw in the state locked up with that shit, us included!" Smalls added.

Angel nodded and continued to read USA Today, which went on to detail how a drive-by shooting by a white SUV was the cause of the chaos. Angel stopped reading and shook his head. Something was bothering him, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

The tan gargoyle sighed, stood up and headed towards the black Harley Davidson Springer he was still 'loaning'.

Slipping the key in the ignition he turned and sent a somewhat apologetic look at Billy, the bikes real owner;  
"I'll have it back soon bro…" Angel muttered, as he kicked down on the bikes starter and brought it roaring to life.

Gothic and Basky both quickly hopped onto their motorcycles and followed their leader out of the warehouse.

"What's up, chief?" Basky asked as the three cruised to a stop at a traffic light a few blocks from the Vikingz warehouse.  
"I wanna check out a few more newspapers, then track down Blue and talk to him again…something isn't right about this shit."

"You say so boss."

The three outlaws rolled on.

A short time later they pulled up next to a small newsstand and Angel began rifling through the row of newspapers neatly lined up on the counter.

"Hey bud, this isn't a library." The Newsstand's fat proprietor snapped.

Angel looked up and glared at him behind his dark sunglasses before saying;  
"It is now."  
The owner gulped and moved as far away from the biker leader as the small space inside the stand would allow.

After scanning a few more papers Angel hopped back on his bike and roared off with his two Praetorians following close behind.

"Chief, what the hell is going on?" Gothic asked, shouting to be heard over the roar of the three Harley's pipes.

Angel shrugged, "I'll have a better idea once we go talk to Blue." He said, as he headed north towards Queens and the Outlaws clubhouse.

When they pulled up to the grim looking and heavily fortified headquarters of the New York Outlaws, the three Vikingz stopped right in front and backed there bikes up to curb directly in front of a massive entryway marked with the skull and crossed pistons insignia of the Outlaws.

Hopping off his bike Angel walked up and banged on the heavy steel door that was disguised by the grinning skulls front teeth.

A radio filtered voice crackled from a small speaker next to the door.

"State your name and purpose."

"Open the fucking door, Stick!" Angel shouted.

There was a pause, and then a dry chuckle emanated form the speaker,  
"Sure thing Angel, you impatient prick."

There was a loud buzzing and then a metallic *snick* as the doors heavy bolts retracted, unlocking it.

Shoving the heavy door open with one hand, Angel swaggered in, with Basky and Gothic at his side.

A skinny Outlaw was coming over from behind a long wet bar that dominated one side of the room.

"Hey bro!" he said, locking the massive gargoyle in a traditional biker handshake/bear hug, "What the fuck has you guys out so early?"

"I'm trying to find Blue; I need talk to him about that drive-by that tagged Al and the other two."

The scrawny Outlaw nodded, "Yeah sure no problem- he's staying in that fuckin' flea bag hotel down the street."

"Alright, thanks bro."

"Hey man, why don't ya'll stick around and have a drink?" the Outlaw asked,

"Naw man, we're cool…"

"Aw c'mon man…I'm gonna be stuck here all fucking day!" Stick mock pleaded.

Angel laughed, "Alright, we'll have a beer or three, if it'll keep you from getting all lonesome" Angel turned the 'L' in 'lonesome' into a w sound and laughed again at his own wit.

One or three beers turned into five, thanks to Sticks constant bickering and pleading, to which the Vikingz were very sympathetic—knowing perfectly well the drudgeries of clubhouse guard duty.  
Staggering slightly, the Vikingz remounted their bikes two hours after they went through the doors to the Outlaws club house and roared off drunkenly down the street towards the flophouse where Blue was staying.

After pulling in next to the Mongols member's blue Harley FLHTC in the hotels tiny parking lot, the three Vikingz quickly intimidated the hotel clerk into giving up Blue's room number and headed up the stairs to the correct floor.

"This it?" Basky asked, pointing towards the first room on the third floor, right next to the entrance to the stairway.

"Yeah."

The small Viking knocked on the flimsy door,

"Hey Blue! We wanna talk to you, bro!"

Silence.

"Hey man, it's the Vikingz, we just wanna talk!"

Still nothing.

"OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR YOU ASSHOLE!!"

Silence again.

"Chief, what the fuck do you wanna…" Basky said, turning to look at Angel.  
The Vikingz president was moving forward and motioning Basky out of the way.  
Angel droved one high arched foot savagely into the door just under the cheap lock and it promptly flew open, revealing a sprawled corpse in a Mongols patch lying face down on the ratty carpet.

The three Vikingz regarded Blues dead body in silence for a few seconds.

Finally Angel started giving orders.

"Basky go back down the street and tell Stick to get Mojo and some more Outlaws down here. Gothic, get a hold of Skagg, tell him to call Little Dave."

The two bikers dashed off to carry out their commanders orders, while Angel bent down next to Blue's corpse.

"Shit…" Angel held his face in his hands.

The obvious explanation, that the Quarrymen had killed the biker, didn't make any sense at all; at a glance it was plain the dead Mongol was stiff with rigor mortis. He'd been dead for a longer period of time than a Quarrymen assassin would need to get to him, and besides, why go for a lone biker when there was a one-percenter club house down the street?

"Something else is going on here…" Angel said, as all those facts bounced around his head, but he couldn't figure out what the hell it was…

"FUCK!!" Angel snarled, before punching his fist though a wall.

He wasn't a fucking detective!

Suddenly Angels face went blank.

"But I do know a couple…"

Angel grinned and stalked out of the blood spattered hotel room.

Later that day, Elisa Maza yawned enormously and tumbled out of bed as her alarm clock blared away.

"I'm starting to feel like a Vampire…" she muttered, and then she remembered the wannabe 'Vampires' she had run into last month and let out a dark chuckle, "Well, maybe not quite that bad."

Turning off the Alarm, she stumbled into the kitchen and turned on the coffee maker before hopping in the shower and getting dressed. After feeding Cagney and pouring herself a cup of coffee, she ambled out her door.

Half an hour later she plunked herself down at her desk in the 21st Precinct and began rifling through the reports scattered across its surface.

Two exceedingly boring hours later she was done with her paperwork, and was in the process of spacing out on thoughts of warm, sandy beaches and sunshine when Matt Bluestone tapped her on the shoulder.

"Buy you breakfast?" he asked.

"Sure," Elisa said, getting up from her desk and pulling on her red bomber jacket, "But I'll have you know you interrupted a wonderful day dream…"

"Oh really? Did it involve a certain seven foot tall Lothario?"

Elisa snorted in derision.

"No, just actually getting to see the sun."

Matt laughed, "I seem to be having that same dream…" Bluestone ran a hand through his bright orange hair and shook his head.

"I think it's high time we took some vacation time."  
"Well, good luck with that, O all powerful Gargoyle Task Force Leader."  
Matt snorted in amusement.

"Hey at least I got a pay raise to go with my new found misery…oh wait, I didn't!"

Both laughing, the two Detectives headed for the door to the street and got into Elisa's candy apple red Fairlane.

Abruptly, Matt turned serious. "Hey Elisa, I had quite an interesting call last night…" he began.

"…About a half dozen gargoyles battling half the outlaw bikers in the city?"

"Yeah. Judging by the witness statements, I'd guess that Angel and the Outlaws came out on top."

"And you'd guess right."

Matt's eyes went wide, "Are you kidding me? The clan lost to a bunch of bikers?"

"I think 'lost' might be too string a word. They didn't say much about it last night, but I think they gave a lot better than they got." Elisa remembered the bruises, cuts and abrasions the Clan had been sporting after the fight. iAt least I hope so…/i she thought.

"Were the Vikingz involved?"

Elisa grunted. "Yeah…that outlaw bastard and his friends led the charge."

Matt shook his head. "Demona, Thailog…now this Angel guy. Man, it seems that every gargoyle on the planet is out to wipe out the Goliath's Clan."

"Not every gargoyle…" Elisa said, remembering the various clans she and Goliath had encountered on their Avalon sponsored world tour, "Just the local ones."

"Why the hell would I want to wipe the goody-goodys out?" A rough voice suddenly demanded from the back seat.

Before either Matt or Elisa could say anything, Angel crossed his tattooed arms on top of the front seat and leaned forward from the back of the Fairlane.

"Hello."

"Explain to me VERY clearly why you want our help…" Matt began.

"…and why the hell we should give it to you after you were just doing your level best to open Goliath's head with a steel chain." Elisa finished, as she glared across the booth at the outlaw gargoyle.

Angel shrugged, "That wouldn't have happened if they just minded their own business."

"Are you kidding me?" Elisa said, laughing, "Gargoyles protect…"

"So I'm told."

"Which means they wouldn't let a bunch of second rate punks go out and wreak havoc without a fight…"

"I'll have you know I consider myself a first rate punk, Detective Maza." Angel said, flashing a grin that was equal parts charm, menace and amusement.

"Oh for…"

"Listen we can sit here and bitch about the past, or we can worry about the future…"

"It happened last night!" Elisa snarled,

"… trust me when I say that the future is something we're gonna need to worry about."

That managed to silence whatever pithy comeback Elisa had planned. Angel looked around the bar he and the two detectives had driven to before answering.

"Look…I've been thinking about these two shootings, and something isn't right."

"Oh really, what's that?"

"Look, if these Quarrymen wanted to get revenge for the ass whipping they've been gettin' they would have been looking for something a lot more public than a drive-by shooting."

"That's…" Elisa began hotly, and then paused. "A good point."

Matt nodded, "It's not like anyone could ever accuse Castaway of subtlety."

"And if someone tried to pin the blame of one shooting on the Quarrymen, they might be trying to pin the blame of the other on bikers." Angel explained,

"Or you might be trying to throw suspicion off of the Pagans for that massacre." Elisa accused, eyeing Angel suspiciously.

"Let me finish."

Still glaring, Elisa waved at Angel to continue.

"We had a witness on that drive by that took out the two Outlaws and that Pagan. I went to talk to him this morning and I found him face down on the floor with three bullets in the back of his head."

"What!?" Elisa and Matt both shouted, "Then why the hell haven't we heard anything about it!?" Matt asked; no outlaw bikers had turned up dead since the three murders the night before last, as far as the NYPD knew.

"Because we take care of our own. No cops." Angel said, drawing himself up in his seat so the dim light of the bar would cast down on the one-percenter diamond and metal Vikingz pins on the front of his vest.

"Then why are you sitting here talking to us?" Elisa asked, with a raised eyebrow.

Angel sighed, "Look…I'm smart enough to know something's not right about this, but well…I have no idea what the hell to do right now.

So I figured I'd just call in the professionals."

"And what made you figure we'd answer the call?" Elisa hotly demanded,

"Because you and I both know what'll happen to all those poor defenseless Quarrymen if the Pagans and Outlaws go to war with 'em, don't we?"

"Last time I checked, not even you anti-social biker boys had access to attack helicopters and laser weapons; but the Quarrymen certainly do." Matt pointed out.

Angel threw back his head and let out a scornful laugh.

"You're absolutely right; and the Quarrymen seem to have something of a proclivity for using their heavy artillery at the drop of a hat, regardless of who might be in the way."

Matt's face froze.

"And of course if there's a war with the Quarrymen, that means plenty of bombs, shootings and beat downs from the Pagans and Outlaws as well...and who knows who might get caught up in that…"

"I think it's already obvious that the Pagans have taken their revenge." Elisa said, pointing to a small TV set over the bar which was running a story about the previous night's massacre.

Angel shrugged. "Like I said, I don't think that was them."

"Why do you say that?"

"Too fast, too high profile, and too much exposure. Not even Jimmy is dumb enough to do something like that. And besides, if the Pagans had access to the kind of firepower that was supposedly used in that drive-by, I'd know about it."

"Okay Angel," Elisa said, raising an eyebrow, "Say we do agree to help you. What makes you think we can figure things out any better than you and your goons?"

"Did you actually just say 'goons'?" Angel said with disbelief etched on his face.

"What?"

"Never mind…I figure it can't hurt anything; you damn sure aren't going to find out anything you wouldn't eventually discover anyway."

"Why the hell do you care if the Pagans or Outlaws rip the Quarrymen to shreds anyway?" Elisa asked.

"Because after the dust settles, I'd guess you cops and your little buddies, the Feds will be waiting to arrest whoever's left. If that's gotta be what happens, that's gotta be what happens, but if even one of my guys dies in a war for no reason whatsoever, it'll be too many."

"So in the end that's all you care about, huh?" Elisa spat. "The lives of your fellow scum matter more to you than anything else?"

"Yep." Angel casually agreed.

"Well…" Elisa was at a loss for words.

"This kinda sorta brings us back to our original question," Matt said, quickly changing the subject, "Why would we help you?"

"Well besides the whole saving people's lives and stopping a full scale war from starting in the middle of New York City, there is the matter of Elisa still owing me for saving her life."

"What? When the hell was that?" Elisa demanded.

"After you parked your SUV up a fuckin' brick wall, and I pulled your ass outta the wreck." Angel offhandedly explained, "I could have just left your ass in there, fucked off, and let the crazy bitch have her fun with you. But I saved your ass instead, didn't I?"

"And I saved you earlier!"

"Only because I stuck around and made sure Demona didn't put a laser bolt through your skull."

"She was after you too!! You just saved your own ass!"

Angel spread his hands, dismissing the matter entirely. "Maybe your right, anyway, that still leaves us with the whole 'saving innocent people' bit. And, hell, if you help us, I'll even owe YOU one,"

Angel looked from Elisa to Matt before extending his hand across the table.

Grudgingly, Elisa reached out and grasped Angel's hand.

"Deal."

"Awesome. So where do we start?"

"I can't believe we're doing this." Matt said, ignoring the hard stare's the three Vikingz in the grimy hotel hallway sent at him, Elisa, and the crime scene technician they'd press ganged into their investigation.

The technician, who was having a lot harder of a time ignoring the one-percenter mad dogging shook her head nervously,

"I can't believe you talked me into this."

"Come on Jill," Elisa said, "You're always saying you wanted to find out what life was like for regular cops…"

"This wasn't quite what I had in mind." The tech muttered, as she cast a glance back over her shoulder at the Vikingz guards, "I mean you said we might be working with gargoyles…but not…them."

Behind the three police officers, one of the Vikingz snickered.

Elisa turned around and sent the offending biker a glare that put even the Vikingz mad-dogging to shame. The biker laughed out loud, but found something better to do than watch the police at the same time.

Angel suddenly poked his head out from the room where Blue had been shot.

"It took you long enough!" he said, as he walked out of the room and over to the three cops,

"Fuck you, Angel." Elisa shot back.

Behind her, Elisa heard one of the Vikingz snarl a curse and then the distinctive sound of metal sliding from cloth…and turned to find the three Vikingz members reaching under their colors to pull whatever guns they had concealed under them. Alarmed, Elisa reached for her own weapon and looked at Angel. The outlaw leader was silent for a few seconds, and then said:

"Leave it. It's not a big deal."

The three bikers slid their weapons back in place, albeit grudgingly, and sent even more intense glares at the police. Angel grinned the same outlaw grin he'd flashed in the bar,

"Sorry about that…we tend to deal with disrespect a little more harshly than normal people, I guess. You might want to keep that in mind…in the future."

"But…"

"This is the Forensic Files chick you guys wanted to pick up?" Angel suddenly asked, pointing at the crime scene technician.

"Yeah." Matt said, quickly heading off whatever sharp words Elisa had been preparing,

"She knows this is strictly off the record." Matt said reassuringly.

"Good." Angel looked back Elisa and raised a brow ridge, "Not unofficial enough for Elisa not to look like she just swallowed a bug though, right?"

Matt glanced back at Elisa, who did indeed look like she had an exceedingly bad taste in her mouth,

'iA diplomat your not, partner./i' Matt thought.

"Well she…"

"Whatever." Angel said, and stood aside to le+t the Crimes Scene Technician into the blood spattered hotel room,

"Was the door kicked in when you got here?" the tech asked after setting the plastic tool box with her equipment down on the rooms floor and began rifling through it.

"No, I did that…" Angel said, leaning on the doorframe.

"Uh-huh…what about this drag mark?" The tech said, pointing to a blood trial that ran from the pool of blood where Blue had lain to a sharp end in a neat vertical line.

"Nah, that's from when we moved Blue…I mean the dead guy out of here."

The Tech sighed, knowing that this crime scene was essentially ruined.

Elisa walked over to Angel and asked, "Did you ask anyone if they heard or saw anything?"

"Lady, not to be a smartass or anything, but if there was anyone in this place who'd actually talk, don't you think they'd just call the cops?"

Elisa nodded, conceding the point.

"Yeah I guess so…but you guys didn't try any 'alternative' techniques?"

Angel snorted in amusement, "What, like beat the hell out 'em? Is that what you get your gargoyle buddies to do for you?"

"What?"

"Seriously detective, you might wanna watch out with that shit, or the ACLU is gonna nail your ass to the wall." Angel shook his head in stern disapproval, "I mean, criminals have rights too, y'know."

Elisa sighed in exasperation and turned to walk away,

"Jesus lady, I was just funnin'. Anyway, yeah, we talked to some people, but it looked like everyone who was on this floor checked out this morning at about eight."

Elisa crossed her arms, "I'd guess that was when the shooting happened."

Angel nodded, "That's what I thought too. Only reason anyone for anyone in this shit hole to get up ithat/i early would have to be bugging the hell because of something like…I dunno, gunfire?."

"Then why didn't the manager or someone call the cops?"

"Talked to him too, says he didn't hear or see anything."

"Do you know where he is now?"

"Hospital." Angel casually announced,

Elisa sent a dark look at the biker leader.

"And how'd he get there?"

"We broke his legs with a crowbar. My guess is he really ididn't/i hear or see anything."

Elisa glared harder at Angel.

Angel laughed and turned to watch the crime scene technician again.

As he seemed to intently watch as the Crime Scene Technician pulled on a set of latex gloves and began to rummage around the hotel room, his thoughts began to swirl, knowing damn well he'd just confessed to torturing someone for information to a cop and had only a feeling that she wouldn't turn him in because he was a gargoyle as reassurance.

iWhat the fuck am I doing?/i he asked himself, iAt what goddamn point did it seem like a good idea to get the/i cops iinvolved with this? Just cause I couldn't figure this out? SHIT!/i, Angel sent a quick glance back at Matt and Elisa, iShoulda just called Jimmy and just asked him if he pulled that shit last night…/i Angel suddenly cursed out loud and smacked his forehead with a palm.

"What?" Elisa asked in surprise,

"Nothing." Angel growled, before turning to the three Vikingz at the end of the hallway.

"Skagg, phone."

One of the Vikingz reached under his vest and pulled out a cell phone, which he quickly tossed to Angel.

"iGracias/i…" Angel flipped the phone open and quickly dialed a number,

After a short wait Angel began talking to whoever was on the other end,

"Yo Jimmy its Angel…yeah, yeah…listen did your boys have anything to do with that drive-by last night…don't bull shit me Jimmy, if you pull something that stupid…yeah. Fine." Angel hit the end button and tossed the phone backed to Skagg.

Elisa and Matt looked over at Angel curiously, "What was that about?" Matt asked,

"Nothing."

Elisa's gaze turned dubious.

"Fine." Angel relented "That was the president of the Pagans charter who's gunning for the Quarrymen. He says his guys didn't have anything to do with that attack."

Matt nodded, "The plot thickens, I guess. You might have been onto something when you thought something else was going on."

Angel shrugged and went back to watching the Crime Scene Technician.

Behind him Elisa leaned over and whispered to Matt, "Don't ell me you don't find that convenient…"

"What, that he only just now thought to just ask the main suspects whether or not they committed the crime? Only slightly…"

"I think Angel is trying to throw the scent off his biker buddies. Lets play along for now, but I'm gonna radio the clan as soon as we get outta here."

"Sounds like a plan."

Suddenly, the Crime Scene Tech interrupted the two detective's conversation with a triumphant shout,

"I found it!"

"Found what?" Angel asked walking into the room and kneeling down next to the Tech,

"Shell casings." She said, picking up a tiny brass object and dropping it into an evidence bag, "Y'know if this case was 'official' I'd have to write down a shitload of times and dates and tide conditions on every one of these damn things…as it stands though…" the Tech casually dropped the bags containing the shells into her kit.

Angel snorted, "See, if you hadn't just had the crap scared outta you by a bunch of bikers, you never could have told chain of evidence to go fuck itself!" he proclaimed, slapping the Technician on her back.

The Tech laughed at Angels bizarre comment, but Elisa and Matt looked surprised,

"How the hell do iyou/i know about chain of evidence?"

Angel looked at them and grinned mischievously, "Because one of my boys got off on a murder charge a few years back because this dumbass CSI forgot to fill out the date's on his evidence containers."

The smile quickly fell away from the Tech's face.

--

Back in her Fairlane, Elisa reached for her communicator to call the clan while Matt and the Crime Scene Tech talked to the Vikingz,

"I, uh, should have these shells casing ran through AFIS in about three hours." The Tech nervously explained.

Skagg glanced at his watch, "I guess we meet again in three hours then…that'll be at about ten, right?"

"Yeah. Do you have anyplace in mind where you want to meet?"

Skagg looked at Angel, "Sports Center in Hells Kitchen." The outlaw leader declared,

"We'll meet you on the second floor."

"Okay…"

"Anyway, see you guys later."

"But…"

"Later."

Bluestone got the message and got into the Fairlane, with the Crime Scene Tech not far behind.

After watching as Elisa pulled away from the curb and moved off down the street, Angel turned to the Vikingz members arrayed behind him,

"Strip that fucking hotel room bare, and hurry the hell up before those pigs call in backup to toss the place." he ordered.

Back at the 23rd Precinct, Matt and Elisa impatiently waited in the cramped confines of the Precincts minuscule crime lab as the Technician ran the shell casing through a database that compared the firing pin and ejector marks left on them by the gun they were fired from across the nation.

"So how long does this take?" Elisa asked, for the third time.

"Hopefully three hours, but it can take as long as two days."

Elisa groaned, not the least bit enthusiastic about the prospects of keeping the twitchy Angel and his private army convinced that she and Matt were doing their best to help them out for two days.

"I think my partner needs some air, Sarah, but we'll be back." Matt said, walking out of the cramped lab and sending Elisa a worried look. Getting the message, Elisa followed him out the door and onto the street in front of the 23rd.

"What's up, Matt?' Elisa asked.

Matt sighed, "Elisa, I trust your judgment, but why the hell are we still helping this biker out? Gargoyle or not, he's an out and out criminal!"

Elisa nodded, "Couldn't agree more, Matt. But he's also got firsthand knowledge of the two gargoyle sanctuaries in New York. I don't know if he realizes it or nor, but he's holding the lives of the clan, the clones, the mutates, and even Xanatos in his grubby little hands."

Matt was silent for a moment, and then his face turned ashen.

"Yeah. And I know he's not stupid, so it'll only be a matter of time before he figures that out."

"I guess the question is what will he do when he idoes/i figure it out?"

Elisa shrugged helplessly, "Ideally, the best thing to do would be to lock him up in the castle or the labyrinth. But…well it's not like this is Demona or Thailog. If we lock Angel away, his gang will come looking for him…"

"…and slaughter anyone who gets in their way, got it. So I guess the only thing to do is try and keep the bastard happy with us so he doesn't tell the anti-gargoyle crowd where our friends are living."

"That's the only plan I could come with."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

Suddenly, the Crime Scene Technician stuck her head out the door and waved a sheet of paper at the two detectives. "GOT IT!"

"Well, any leads?" Matt asked her,

"Yeah. Your not gonna believe this…"

"Try me."

"The marks on the casing match those fired from a gun used in a shooting in Queens last year. The weapon was seized along with the suspect," the Crime Scene Tech explained as she walked down the stairs in front of the 23rd, "But it was stolen from the evidence lock-up last year, along with about two dozen other firearms. No one was arrested in that but there was a suspect questioned, his name was…"

"…Tony Dracon." Elisa finished.

An hour later, Elisa was speeding towards Rikers Island State Prison at full speed, with a Matt going a few shades paler in the passenger seat.

"Elisa…"

"We've got him this time, Matt." Elisa triumphantly declared,

"Maybe we do, partner, but if you plough us into a semi, we'll never find out, will we?"

Elisa seemed to snap out of a trance, then eased off the gas and slowed the candy-apple red car down,

"Alright Elisa, I know you'd love to nail Dracons hide against the wall for this, but first off, we need to back off a bit."

Elisa nodded I agreement, "I guess I do get a little carried away with Dracon…"

"Yeah, no shit. But I know we don't have any solid evidence linking him to this."

"I iknow/i he did it. I don't know why, but it makes sense."

"How's that?"

"Every time Dracon's name come up in connection with a murder, it looks almost exactly like what Angel described; two bullets to the head, execution style. But whoever does the shooting always sweeps the place clean; forensics have never found a bullet, a fingerprint, nothing,"

"So how do you explain…"

"Dracon's in prison, which mean's he has to leave all his boys out on their own where he can't make sure they clean up after themselves."

Matt shook his head, "Even if we do bust his ass, he's just gonna say it was his men acting on their own."

"Matt, you and I both know damn well Dracon still runs his crew, even if he is behind bars."

"I know that, you know that, the whole city knows that, but would a prosecutor and a jury know that?"

Elisa's face darkened, and she slammed a fist into the Fairlanes dashboard,

"Goddamnit Matt!!"

"Hey, it's not imy/i fault…"

"Yeah…I know. But I really thought we had him this time."

Matt rubbed his chin, "I think we might actually."

"How's that?"

"If we can get a judge to issue warrants for Dracon's lieutenants, we might be able to get 'em to talk."

Elisa shook her head, "Matt those guys NEVER say a word-other than 'lawyer'. And I know we don't have good enough evidence to keep those pricks very long."

"I know. But this will take a little 'alternative persuasion'."

"Matt, what have you got schemed up in that little conspiracy filled mind of yours?"

Bluestone grinned, "We need to go see the Vikingz…"

--

Elisa parked the Fairlane across the street from the 'Sports Center' where Angel had told them to meet him, and she and matt looked across the street at the tight row of Harley Davidson's lined up in front of a small metal staircase that disappeared under a building.

"I guess this is the place…."

"Yeah. According to the guys in the 15th, they get called out here every weekend; shootings, assaults, rapes…everything."

"Well, this is going to be fun."

The two detectives climbed out of the car and headed across the street.

As Elisa slipped between the small space between two tightly packed choppers, a voice growled form the shadows,

"Watch those fuckin' bikes, cop!"

Elisa and Matt quickly looked up and found themselves staring at a pale skinned man wearing a black, metal ribbed jacket covered in Vikingz insignia.

"Who…"

"You're late. Chief's inside."

The two detectives carefully picked their way through the maze of chrome and wild paint jobs and onto the sidewalk behind. As she wound her way unto the sidewalk, Elisa noticed that about thirty of the bikes were marked with the Vikingz name and insignia.

Angel had apparently shown up with nearly the full Vikingz complement-he was expecting a double cross.

"Where…" Matt started to ask the Viking guarding the bikes.

"Inside."

Matt looked at Elisa, who shrugged and headed down the stairs.

Following behind, Matt found he had to watch his footing, because the concrete steps that led down to the bars entrance seemed to be as worn and crumbling as an ancient Roman ruin. Matt was so intent on the stair case he didn't notice the thudding beat coming echoing in the stairwell like an artillery barrage, but got a full dose when Elisa shoved open the splintered wood door at the bottom of the stairway.

iCountry DJ's knows that I'm an outlaw…/i sang the Texas accented voice that suddenly blared into Matt's ear, iThey'd never come to see me in this dive, where bikers stare at cowboys…/i

So many voices inside the bar roared with approval at that line that Matt could barely make out the next line, but it sounded like,i…who are laughin' at the hippies, who're prayin' they'll get out of here alive!/i Whatever came after that was drowned out by a chorus of drunken laughter.

As Matt stumbled across the threshold of the bar, he found himself adrift in a sea of black leather and cigarette smoke. There seemed to be almost sixty bikers and motorcycle chicks packed around a dozen pool tables arrayed in neat rows across the long room, and all of them were turning to look at the newcomers that just walked in the door.

Before anyone said anything, and just as Matt was getting ready to grab Elisa and head back up the crumbling stairs, a tall Viking with short blond hair stumbled over from the long bar that covered one wall of the pool hall,

"Yer late cop'sh…Chief's downstairsh." The Viking said, pointing vaguely to the other side of the room. Before either detective could ask for any clarification however, the Viking staggered back over to the bar.

Matt looked at Elisa and shrugged, then began to wind his way through the mass of bikers, being very careful not to step on anyone's boots or foul up a pool shot.

Elisa imitated him and the two managed to get to the other side of the pool hall without being beaten senseless.

"This is getting ridiculous." Elisa said to Matt when they met back up.

"Yeah, no joke." Matt agreed.

"Well, I guess that's the way…" Elisa said pointing to a dark stair case not far from them.

The two cops walked down the rickety stairs down into the bars lower level, and both stopped short at the array of Vikingz patches that suddenly spread before them.

"Oh boy…"

A huge Viking with flaming red hair looked over a t Matt and Elisa and shouted,

"The cops are here!!"

A few Vikingz members looked up in surprise and fear, but when they saw the two detectives they cursed loudly and pelted the laughing Smalls with a few thrown beer bottles.

Angel moved through the crowd of Vikingz and met the detectives at the bottom of the stairs.

"You're late." He declared.

"We think we figured out who killed your friend in the hotel." Elisa said, not bothering to explain her and Matt's tardiness.

Angel's brow ridges rose in surprise, "Who?" he demanded.

Elisa looked over at the rows of pool tables the Vikingz had occupied.

"You know I could really go for shooting a couple racks right now…" then she glanced at the bar, which was manned by the short, fat Viking she had seen at the auction yard., "…and a Diet Coke."

One of the Vikingz members who heard Elisa's snide orders to his leader snarled a curse and advanced on Elisa with his pool cue held like a club. But Angel put a hand on the advancing biker to stop him.

"Hold up there bro."

"Huh?"

"If we waste this chick, her boyfriend is gonna go Jihad on us. Leave it."

With the same lion-denied-a-kill look as the three bikers in the hotel had shown, the Vikingz member backed down.

Angel looked at Elisa and cocked his head, "I tell you what, how about we play a couple games and you tell me what you know."

Without waiting for a reply, Angel turned and headed to an empty table.

Elisa sauntered along behind the outlaw leader, with Matt in tow. Angel pulled out the multicolored balls from a shelf built into the pool table and dropped them into the rack, then grabbed two cues off a rack and handed one too Elisa. Angel snorted impatiently and glowered as Elisa rolled the cue across the surface of a nearby table. As she turned to walk back to the table Angel had racked, the song being blared through the pool halls abruptly ended, and a new one began:

i"Early one morning while makin' the rounds, I took a shot a' cocaine and shot my woman down…"/i

"You wanna break?" Angel asked as slight smile spread across his features, "I wanna listen to this for awhile…"

"Sure." Elisa walked around the table and picked an angle on the white cue ball.

i"I shoulda known he liked Johnny Cash…"/i she thought.

"Matt, I play, you explain." Elisa said, before slamming the cue across the table and scattering the neat triangle of balls from one end of the table to another.

"Not bad," Angel said, breaking himself away form the music then he leaned over the table and assessed his shot options, finally deciding on sending a solid into a corner pocket, quickly followed by another into the middle, then another into the opposite corner pocket. After he missed his next shot, he turned to Matt, "Okay buddy, you heard the lady; explain to me."

"We matched the cartridge cases we found to a gun that was stolen from an evidence lockup. We think we know who stole them, but the evidence alone isn't good enough to provide a concrete case…" Matt was interrupted by the loud clack of pool balls crashing together as Elisa knocked two balls in quick succession, before missing her third shot.

Angel turned from Matt and began to line up a shot on the seven ball. As he leaned over to take his shot, he looked up at Matt, "Well, keep talkin' man…" he said, before sinking the seven and moving onto the three.

"The guys we suspect have been dancing out of prosecution for years, but I think that this is a real chance to get him locked up for good."

"That's nice, but I want him dead, not free to buy his way outta court."

Angel knocked the three into a middle pocket.

"No way."

Angel laughed as he lined up his next shot, "Try and stop us."

"You don't know who our suspects are, or even if their the ones who did it."

Angel took his next shot, then looked up and cocked his head, "And?"

"How the hell are you going to find out that info out without us?"

"I'd guess some of my brothers have a source inside the police department…"

"And if you admit to any of your fellow scum about this, their going to wanna know were you found out about the arrest in the first place."

Angel chalked his cue and sank another ball.

"Point. But if you weren't going to tell me anything, why the hell did you show up?"

Matt crossed his arms and said, "We think we can get these guys to sing like canaries, but we'll need your help."

"What, the big bad NYPD to good to beat up suspects with phone books nowadays?"

Elisa looked over at Angel and smiled sweetly before saying, "No, we can't do that anymore—they put too many cameras in the fucking interrogation rooms."

Angel looked surprised, than threw back his head and roared with laughter.

"I'll keep that in mind…now what is it you think you need my help with?"

Angel sank one more ball and then sank the eight.

"Well, enlighten me."

Before Matt could begin, Elisa began dropping more the balls back in the rack,

"Where's my coke?" she asked.

Two hours later, Matt and Elisa had pulled in Glasses and four of Tony Dracons other goons and had been questioning them nonstop, one after another, and had come up with three words instead of one; 'Lawyer' had another snarled command added to it on occasion, which neither was inclined to follow.

"We know you murdered that biker, Glasses," Elisa snarled, "You fucked up! We found the shell casings…"

"…the one from the gun you morons stole from the evidence lock up. We can trace that gun straight to your boss' doorstep, and when we do, I doubt he's goin to be very happy with you."

"To say the least. You might wanna think about getting some life insurance."

Glasses snorted in derision, "If you got such good evidence, why are you talkin' to me? Why isn't Tony sittin' in this crappy metal chair? Huh?" the thug sneered.

"Because he's locked up in Rikers, dumbass!"

Glasses laughed again, "Well I see you guys aren't keepin' up on current events too well."

Matt and Elisa shared a quick look.

"Well if you're so smart, punk, then why don't you enlighten us…"

"Tony's getting out on parole. Tomorrow."

Glasses nearly fell off his chair when he saw the slack jawed looks on the two detectives faces. Before either detective could say anything else, there was a loud rapping on the interrogation rooms door.

"Maza, Bluestone can I have a word with you?" Captain Chavez asked from the hall outside.

Reluctantly, Elisa and Matt filed out the door, and Chavez met them in the hallway, her hands set on her hips and a stern expression on her face.

"Would you mind telling me why I have five of Dracons assholes sitting in my jail cells? And why they haven't got any charges filed on them beyond some BS that their lawyers are gonna tear through in about three seconds?"

"Captain…" Matt began,

"And what the hell is the leader of my Gargoyles Task Force doing in the interrogation of two-bit mobsters for anyway?"

Matt could only shrug.

"Look I know you two are still partners, no matter what the roster says, but could you try and occasionally ipretend/i you give damn about that assignment once in awhile?"

"Yes Captain…"

"And Elisa, you know damn well you can't take down Dracons boys with charges this flimsy!"

Elisa nodded, "But I had to try. If we don't sweat them, their just gonna keep running Dracon's businesses for him. Not that that really matter's anymore, I guess."

Chavez nodded, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier, Elisa, but I couldn't find you…"

Chavez shook her head, "What the hell makes those parole board idiots pick 'em like they do…anyway, you might as well cut your prisoners loose, their lawyers have already called three times."

"Okay." Elisa said, taking the news remarkably well.

Chavez raised an eyebrow at Elisa's lack of protest, and walked away shaking her head.

After the captain rounded the corner Elisa grinned at Matt,

"Time to see if your plan works, I guess."

"…your lucky you cops let me go before my lawyer got here." One of Dracons thugs proclaimed as he swaggered out the doors of the 23rd precinct.

"Fuckin' right Vinnie," another of Dracons men said, "I should right my congressmen and shit."

The thugs laughed, but Glasses sent a suspicious look over his shoulder at the two detectives who were escorting them out of the Precinct. He'd never known Elisa to give up THIS easy. His train of though abruptly derailed as he ran into the thug in front of him, who had suddenly come to a dead stop.

"Vinnie, what the fu…" Glasses began, but then he spotted why Vinnie had stopped dead.

Across the street from the 23rd, two dozen Vikingz were lined up in a neat row facing the precinct, their Harleys idly rumbling in neutral.

"What the hell…" the one of the thugs muttered, visibly shaking under the mad dog stares the bikers were sending his way, "What the hell are ithey/i doin' here?" he asked Matt.

"What, them? It looks like their indulging in their constitutional right to assemble anywhere they please…not much we can do about that, right Elisa?"

"Nope sure isn't…of course, five practiced students of the law such as yourselves would know that, right?"

Glasses opened his mouth, but he couldn't think of anything to say.

"But it's not like you guys have anything to worry about right? I'm sure those bikers aren't looking to say…torture you all to death for killing one of their buddies, right?" Elisa innocently asked.

"Oh man, you remember that snitch the Hells Angels got last year, Elisa?" Matt asked his partner, who shuddered and said, "I try not too…you remember the coat hanger?"

"Eesh…you know I never did figure out how they got that hanger up his…"

Matt winced, "Aw man, that nasty…"

Across the street, Tramp pulled a set of pliers out of his jeans and began to size up Glasses.

"That was nothing, you remember that chick the Outlaws icrucified/i? That was beyond twisted…"

Det pulled a wicked looking combat knife with a serrated edge and began to spin it in his hand.

"That one moron that shot that HA though…he lived, didn't he?"

"Unfortunately for him yeah…"

Angel looked over at Vinnie and casually flicked the talons on his right hand out, one by one, before smiling a wolfish grin that was made all the more fearsome by his razor sharp fangs.

"Oh shit…" Vinnie murmured.

Glasses shot his partner in crime a sharp gaze, knowing exactly what game the cops were playing, and knowing it was working beyond his greatest fears…

"Vinnie you better not…" Glasses started to hiss, but it was too late.

"You gotta protect me!" he shouted at the two detectives

"YOU DUMB MOTHERFUCKER!!!" Glasses roared, before tackling Vinnie and landing a pair of vicious haymakers to his head.

Matt and Elisa clamped unto the berserk criminals shoulder and tried to yank him away, but Glasses rage fueled strength gave him just enough time to slam Vinnies head on the stair's, but not with enough force to do anything but knock him unconscious.

Another one of Dracons thugs made a move towards the detectives while they were distracted, but came to a dead stop when Morgan burst through the front doors of the precinct to see what was going on, and when he spotted the thug he pulled his pistol and leveled it at the thugs chest,

"Freeze!" he ordered, and Dracons thug promptly complied.

The other two gangsters too off running, but they quickly found themselves pursued by half a dozen roaring Harleys. The Vikingz caught up with them in seconds, and dragged them none to gently back to the precinct and deposited them on the steps.

"Uh, thanks…" Morgan said, as he slapped his cuffs on one of the thugs after Jesse handed him over.

The big Latino biker grinned, "Always a pleasure to help out the brave men and women of law enforcement…" he said, then walked away laughing.

The Vikingz quickly mounted their bikes and took off, leaving the cops too sort out the mess.

Later that night, just as dawn began to creep over the city, Elisa and Matt met Angel at an all night diner not far from the precinct.

When they got there, they found Angel eagerly demolishing a plate of bacon and eggs.

"Glad to see someone can keep an appetite…" Elisa said, as she sat down across the table from the biker leader.

Angel stopped eating and looked up at her angrily, "I get it already, you don't like me. Leave it alone."

"Actually I wasn't thinking about you." Elisa said, stealing a slice of bacon off of Angel's plate.

"Well, I know that's hard…"

Elisa rolled her eyes, and then began to explain to the outlaw gargoyle what Vinnie had confessed earlier. Apparently, someone had made it known to Dracon that if he were to instigate a little trouble between the Quarrymen and a couple of New York's resident one-perecenters, his next parole hearing might be decidedly in his favor. After Dracon communicated this to his associates on the outside, Glasses and Vinnie had procured a car from one of their auto-theft rings and pulled a drive-by shooting on the four bikers, using a machine gun stolen form an army base, then done the same the night after to the Quarrymen.

"The best part," Matt interjected, "Is that the morons used the same gun for both jobs, so the slugs pulled from both scenes will be a match."

"Cool." Angel said, as he polished off his eggs.

"I guess they found out about your witness somehow, and decided to whack him out…"

Angel shook his head, "That doesn't make sense…"

"Why?"

"Because Blue said that the guys who shot up the biker were Quarrymen, I mean he said they were wearing hoods with that hammer logo…"

"But if they didn't want to leave any witnesses why did they bother with the disguises?"

Elisa took Angels direction quickly, "That doesn't make any sense, Why'd they shoot the only witness of they wanted to make it look like the Quarrymen did it?"

"This has been staring us in the face…" Matt muttered, shaking his head.

Angel shrugged, and then drained the tall glass of orange juice in front of him in one long pull.

"I've had enough of this detective shit. I've got most of the answers I need, so I'll let you figure out who did what," he said, dropping a twenty on the table and standing up, "Lemme know when you get things figured out."

"And our deal?" Elisa asked, raising an eye brow

Angel Smiled and solemnly lifted his right hand,

"I swear, no Viking will lay a hand on this Dracon asshole or his boys…"

"Angel…"

"No ibiker/i will lay a hand on Dracon or his boys," Angel quickly amended, "Jesus. Sister, you make damn sure I can't have any fun…" the biker walked out the door, shaking his head.

"It never ceases to amaze me how little people notice," Matt said, "I mean an outlaw biker igargoyle/i was just sitting in here and eating breakfast, and none of the even sent him a glance…" Matt looked up at Elisa, who was sending a bemused stare at the door Angel had departed from, "What?"

"He called me 'sister'." Elisa said, amusement dancing in her voice.

"Why does…oh. Racist bastard."

Elisa laughed, "Haven't you noticed what he calls the Vikingz?"

Matt though for a second, "Brother?"

"Yeah."

Bluestone laughed, "Looks like the murderous gargoyle has taken a liking to you, partner."

Elisa stuck her tongue out at Matt,

"This night was already been long enough, thanks. I just wan to get home and go to bed…"

"You and me both…sister."

Elisa narrowed her eyes and punched Matt's shoulder.

"Ow! What'd you do that for, sis?"

"Do you want to walk back to the goddamn precinct?"


	16. Chapter 16

The name 'Outlaws' and the 'Charlie' insignia are the property of the Outlaws Motorcycle Club, and are used without permission.

"I swear by whatever god you worship, if you don't have that report on my desk by the time I reach my office, I'm going to have you out of the company so fast your feet won't touch the floor!" Stabbing the end button her cell phone with a pale finger, Dominique Destine ended her conversation with whatever hapless flunky she had been railing at and turned her attention to her driver.

"Driver, what the hell is taking so long?!?" she snarled.

"It looks like the street up ahead is blocked for some reason, ma'm" the driver explained, "I don't know why, there was nothing scheduled this afternoon that would close down any streets on our route."

Effectively cut off from venting her anger by the driver's quiet efficiency, Dominique leaned back in her seat and sulked,

"Well…try and find another route, why don't you?"

"Yes ma'm."

The driver swung the Mercedes limousine into the center lane, but before he could make a turn down a side street, a jet black Harley Davidson swung into place and blocked his path.

"What the hell…" the driver said aloud, before slamming down on the car's horn.

The biker looked over at the limo, before casually looking the other way and displaying the patch on the back of his leather vest.

Black and white, grinning skull over crossed pistons under a rocker that read 'Outlaws'.

The driver let off the horn and held up a hand in apology.

Dominique regarded biker and driver darkly and demanded,

"Get that rabble out of my way! Before…" she stopped mid-threat, as a deep rumble echoed up and down the street and the fixtures in the back of the limo began to rattle.

In the other lane, a white pickup rolled by, its bed filled with two caskets and dozens of wreaths and bouquets. Behind that was a thundering convoy of Harley Davidson's, ridden by solemn faced Outlaws.

"Oh shit…" the driver muttered, before reaching for the Heckler and Koch MP-5 mounted under the limos dashboard. However, it seemed the Outlaws' convoy would pass uneventfully, at least until three powder-blue vans screamed out of a side street and barricaded the pick-up carrying the two dead Outlaws and disgorged three squads of hammer wielding Quarrymen.

The right lead rider of the Outlaws pack angrily dismounted his bike and stormed towards the throng of Quarrymen, with two dozen Outlaws at his side.

In the back of the Limo, Demona absently measured the odds. There appeared to be well over a hundred bikers, all of whom were going to be none to happy at this interruption of a comrades funeral, and the Quarrymen dispatched sixty men to pick a fight with them?

iFoolsi/ What did they hope to accomplish?

Dominique shook her head as she remembered the fanaticism displayed by the Quarrymen attack helicopter crew she'd eviscerated the night before after they'd so rudely interrupted her fun.

iFoolsi/, she thought again.

Humans were capable of some very incredible acts of insanity when they felt that right was on their side.

"Take the Hunters for instance…" Dominique said aloud,

"W-what was that ma'm?" the driver nervously asked form the front seat.

"Nothing. Now, it might be a good idea to get us out of he…"

Too late.

A Quarrymen swung his hammer into the Outlaws leader, dropping him to the pavement.

An Outlaw pulled a pistol and shot the offending Quarrymen in the head, then dropping another who started to charge with his hammer.

Other Outlaws pulled their own guns, as did most of the Quarrymen, and suddenly a firefight erupted in the middle of midtown Manhattan traffic.

Two Outlaws fell, but the rest quickly took cover behind parked and stopped cars, while the rest of the Outlaw convoy surged forward, firing as they came.

The Quarrymen stood in the open for a moment, either too stupid or too Rambo too take cover. After losing another two of their number under the hail of one-percenter gunfire, they saw the error of their ways and fanned out across the street to take cover. As the Quarrymen fought back, a dozen other people scattered in the crowd caught in the crossfire pulled on midnight blue masks and drew handguns from under their clothing, before opening fire into the flanks of the onrushing Outlaws. The bikers wavered, stopped…and began to poor fire indiscriminately around the street, sending disguised Quarrymen and innocent bystanders diving for cover. Three rounds impacted the bullet proof glass of Dominique's limo, cracking it slightly but doing no real damage.

"Stay down!" Demona's driver barked as he opened his door and steping out aiming his sub machine gun.

"Wait you moron, their not after us!" Demona began to shout, but the driver ignored her and began to train his weapon on a pair of Outlaws crouched behind a nearby minivan.

Enraged, Dominique quickly shoved her own door open and knocked the MP-5's barrel down and away from the bikers.

"What the hell do you think your doing?" the gargoyle demanded,

"Don't tell me how to do my job, lady!"

"Listen to me you useless ihumani/, if you take so much as one shot at anyone on this street , I swear by the dragon I'll…" before Dominique could finish her sentence, she was thrown to the ground from behind, and a heavy weight settled on the small of her back.

She looked up in time to see a blur of movement as a man with a leering skull and crossed pistons on the back of the leather vest he was wearing grabbed her drivers gun by the fore grip and slammed it up into his face, breaking his nose, before ripping the weapon from the drivers limp hands, then bringing the weapon to his shoulder and beginning to send three round bursts at a group of Quarrymen down the street.

"Get off you…" Demona began to snarl, but the biker dug his knee into her back,

"Shut up."

"Don't you order me arou…"

The Outlaw drove the butt of the sub machine gun into Demona's head.

"Shut up." the biker repeated, before bringing the weapon up and dropping another Quarrymen with a quick three round burst.

As the gunfire reached a crescendo, the wail of sirens began to cut through the mayhem on the street, and soon a small fleet of NYPD squad cars descended on the battleground.

The Quarrymen dropped their hardware as the cops approached, and the Outlaws grudgingly followed suit, although a few started up their bike and rode off, weaving their way down alleys and sidewalks to escape.

"Fuckin' pussies", muttered the Outlaw who was kneeling on Dominique, as he stood up and wiped the stolen guns pistol grip and trigger down with a black bandanna, before tossing the gun into a nearby storm drain.

He looked down at Dominique, who was cautiously standing up.

"Have fun lady?" he asked, grinning form ear to ear.

"You…you…" Dominique sputtered, her face covered in street grime and burning with rage.

"Later." the Outlaw said, headed back to the mass of parked Harleys that was quickly being surrounded by the police.

Angrily watching as the Outlaw swaggered into custody, Dominique brushed off her business suit, before kicking her driver in the side until he woke up.

"Get up, you idiot. We need to get out of here, now!"

"Wha…"

"GET UP!" Dominique reached down and hauled the man to his feet, before shoving him towards the open driver's side door, "DRIVE!"

"But…"

"NOW!!"

Matt Bluestone shook his head as surveyed the street which wass till sealed with crime scen tape and filled with Police, even though the gun fight that had erupted there had ended long ago and the Outlaws and Quarrymen rounded up and sent to jail, before night had fallen.

"A lotta work down the drain, huh partner?" he asked the raven haired women standing

next to him.

Elisa rolled her eyes,

"Morons." Elisa pointed at the Quarrymen, "We had this all taken care of. If someone would have just printed that story about Dracons men being behind the shootings…"

"If, if, if. If we woulda just remembered that Angel's buddies might not be the only ones who'd be out for blood…suppose it doesn't matter now, huh?"

Elisa looked over at a long row of body bags nearby,

"Guess not."

"The good news is, it looks like every Outlaws member in the state was here, so their gonna be going away for a loonnnggg time. We should be able to figure out a way to cool this whole thing down long before they get ou…"

"Doubt it."

"What?"

"First off, this whole situation is going to be way to confused to figure out who did what, who shot who, etcetera, etcetera. And second, there's the only detail that iisi/ clear, and that's the Quarrymen attacked first, so all these Outlaws are going to plead self defense."

"No way is that going wash…"

"You'd be surprised."

"Wonderful…"

Elisa's cellular phone abruptly began to ring, and she pulled it out of her jacket and checked the number.

"Who the hell is this?" Elisa wondered out loud, after looking at the unfamiliar number in the caller ID box,

"Probably just a wrong number." Matt speculated.

"Yeah, I guess so… ah well. Might as well check, huh?" Elisa hit the talk on the phone,

"Detective Maza, NYPD."

"No shit." A menacing voice ground from the speaker, "You have any idea what the hell just happened, cop?"

"Hello to you too, Angel." Matt did a double take at the name of the gargoyle outlaw "I'm looking at it right now, as a matter of fa…"

"Well, just so you know, I called both the Pagans and the Outlaws last night and told 'em that there was no reason to go to war with the Quarrymen, and that someone else was behind that shit, and it'd be handled. Now THIS shit happens! I look like a complete asshole!"

"Not my problem. We did what we agreed, and did our best to stop this from happening, we even found the real shooters…"

"Oh, yeah about that…I did my homework, and I know all about your history with this Dracon asshole. How the hell do I know you're just not making this whole thing up to frame that asshole?"

"iWhati/? Are you high?!?"

"Yes. But that has nothing to do with this..."

"Oh my god…"

"Oh bite me you fuckin' goody two shoes. And I want you to know, I've got five brothers in the morgue, and there gonna be buried with a hundred Quarry freaks at their feet, got it?"

"What? What the hell does that mean?" Elisa demanded, but the other line went dead.

"Shit!" the detective snarled.

"So what did the biker boy want?" Matt asked.

"Oh just the usual, he's pissed off at us, and he's going to go out and kill someone."

"Oh."

Angel slammed the pay phone back into its cradle, before stalking back to his borrowed Harley Springer and starting it up.

"Whatsup?" Skagg asked.

"Nothin'. Lets get back to the hangout and check on the boys."

"You got it, Chief."

Skagg followed his leader as he wound his way back towards the Vikingz waterfront stronghold. After parking their bikes in the neat row of chromed out choppers that were lined up against one wall of the warehouse, the two bikers dismounted and walked over to a small area of the warehouse that more closely resembled a temporary military field hospital than part of an outlaw biker hangout, complete with four heavily bandaged patients sprawled out on cheap canvas cots.

"How ya' holdin' up Smalls?" Angel asked a biker so huge the cot he was sitting on sagged nearly to the floor.

Smalls shook his head, which was swathed in red stained bandages, and looked down at his tightly bandaged chest.  
"That big purple motherfucker hits like a fuckin' freight train…" the biker muttered.

Angel could only shrug.

"Looks like it…"

Smalls grunted and took a swig from a bottle of Jim Beam that was sitting next to his cot.

"Any idea when we're gonna get those fuckers for this?"

"Never."

Smalls swallowed wrong and began to caugh,

"What?" he finally gasped,

"Look, we got lucky with that fight, I mean, I'm fucking shocked any of us are still walking after that shit. Let's just let bygones be bygones and leave these mothers the fuck alone, huh?"

"But…"

"No. No buts. I don't need the headache battling these gargoyles would bring bro, especially after what went down today."

Smalls looked angry for a second then nodded,  
"Your call, Chief."

"Fucking right it is. And besides, with the way things keep going for those fuckers, their gonna get wiped out sooner or later anyway."

Smalls laughed, remembering snippets of the stories Hudson had been telling at the Vikingz party,

"Good point…" Smalls said, his eyes dancing with a childlike glee.

Angel laughed and slapped the wounded Viking on the shoulder,

"FUCK!"

"Oh, sorry Smalls." Angel said, grinning.

"I'm gonna kick your motherfuckin' ass soon as I get outta this goddamn bed!"

The huge Viking shouted, clutching his now throbbing shoulder and grimacing in pain.

"Gonna have to remember how to stand first, bitch."

"Man, fuck you!"

Angel laughed again and walked over to a grey haired Viking who was checking another member's shoulder.

"How you doin' Vic?" Angel asked the Viking under examination.

"Fuck chief…how the hell is I get a twisted shoulder and six other guys get broken bones brawlin' just ionei/ of these fucking gargs, and you and eight patches waste a whole mob of 'em and don't get nothing but Smalls busted up and Jesse an' Skagg with headaches?"

"Luck of the draw bro."

"Heh, yeah right…"

"Well Vic, the good news is you shoulders healing fine, the bad news is you'll be out for another couple of weeks." the grey haired Vikingz told Vic.

"Thanks, Doc." Vic grabbed his colors and walked away from the handful of old crates that functioned as an examination table.

Angel watched his injured comrade leave, and then turned to the medic,

"Okay Doc, when is everyone gonna be in good enough shape to ride outta this hell hole?" he asked, going deeply serious.

"What the fuck happened to staying for another couple months?" Doc asked, grinning.

"Fuck that. We're gonna stick around awhile longer, see what we can do to help out with latest round of bullshit, but after that, we're rollin' out. This town is getting a little too fuckin' lively for my tastes."

Doc shrugged,

"With this latest bunch of casualties, I'd guess we wouldn't be getting out of here for at least another month…"

"You sure about that?"  
"If you want 'em to be sound enough to ride proper, yeah, I'm sure."

"Fuck…I dunno. What if we leave their bikes here and just load 'em into a truck?"

Doc shrugged again,

"Two or three weeks then. But you're the one that tells 'em to leave their scoots behind, not me."

Angel sighed,

"We'll see."

The biker chieftain strode away form the temporary clinic and went to find something to do. After stopping at a rattletrap refrigerator that someone had dug up form god only knew were, Angel snatched a beer out and cracked it open, then quickly drained the can and reached into the fridge for another.

"Hey Chief!!"

Angel looked up and saw Tramp waving over by his chopper.

"What?!?" Angel shouted, opening his new can of brew.

"Got that engine in my bike man…runs like a dream, man."

Angel glowered at his hairy, rotund compatriot and rolled his eyes.

"Suck my dick, motherfucker. You better thank god I let you have that fuckin' engine…"

Tramp grinned wider before firing up his bike, letting the well tuned V-twin echo through the warehouse.

"Yessir, this engine has gotta be the sweetest thing I've ever had on imyi/ bike…"

Angel chucked the still full can of beer across the warehouse and watched it smack into Tramps chest and splash over his bike.

"Jesus your pissy, is it that time'a the month again Chief?" Tramp flippantly asked, before pulling out a rag from his back pocket and wiping off his chopper.

Angel growled, before pulling another beer from the fridge and slamming it down.

After retrieving yet another beer from the ancient fridge, Angel weaved his way towards the warehouse door, fishing a pack of cigarettes out of the inside pocket of his vest as he went. Lighting up just outside the massive doors of the warehouse, Angel took a long drag off the cigarette before blowing the smoke into the crisp October air, before

walking out onto the dilapidated wharf in front of the Vikingz' hangout.

"Fucking lovely…" Angel muttered, before opening the Budweiser in his hand and taking a long swig. The big biker was righteously pissed; not only were the Outlaws going to land on the Quarrymen with both feet, a situation that was going to be more than even money considering the Quarrymen's superior weaponry and the trained soldiers they probably possessed at some level or another, but thanks to a couple punch-ups with the local gargoyle population, his Vikingz were robbed of the ability to get the hell out of dodge at a moments notice, leaving them stranded in the middle of what was about to be a very messy situation. And to top ithati/ shit off, his bike had been totaled.

Angel took another pull at his beer, then glanced back at the warehouse,

"HOLY SHIT!!!" He shouted in surprise when he found that a pale woman in a black cloak was standing right behind him.

After a moment of surprise, Angel's face tightened in recognition and he dropped the beer he was holding as his hand darted to the small of his back and the Colt Python usually holstered there…which unfortunately he had lost in the fight with Demona a few days earlier…

"Looking for this?" 'Temptress' sneered, pulling a huge stainless steel revolver out of her cloak and leveling it at Angel,

"What the fuck?" Angel growled,

"Call out too your thugs and I shoot," Temptress hissed, "Your going to take me and some of my friends to the rest of your kind, refuse in any way and…"

"Okay. No problem."

"What?" Temptress asked, wondering why the usually pugnacious gargoyle was being so cooperative

"Yeah. No biggie, I'll take you and your little nerds to the local garg central-but iyouri/ gonna have to figure the rest out for yourself…"

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

Angel laughed, "You'll see, bitch."

"I'm sure you'll find that my associates and I are quite capable of handling your fellow creatures…"

"You say so…" Angel said, raising his hands in the air, "Well, lead on blacky."

Temptress snarled, but stood to one side of the wharf and waved Angel forward with the big revolver. Angel shrugged and walked back down the wharf, and past the gun-wielding lunatic.

Just as he was about to complete pass her though, Angel whipped his tail around and wrapped it around one of the 'Temptresses' feet, before pulling her off balance and bringing her crashing to the ground.

"Dumbass!" Angel triumphantly shouted as he delivered a kick to the downed woman's ribs that'd do justice to an NFL goal kicker, before kneeling down and picking his revolver off the ground, then grabbing the back of Temptresses head and smashing her face into the rotten planks of the wharf, bringing forth a spurt of blood and wet crunching noise as the pale woman's nose broke,

"Don't you ever point a fuckin' gun at me!" Angel snarled as he ground Temptresses' face back an d forth across the planks below, before placing his revolver at the base of her skull and pulling back the hammer,

"Drop it!!" a voice curtly demanded form farther down the wharf, and Angel looked up to see a guy in camouflage fatigues and a weapons harness leveling an assault rifle at him, and two similarly dressed soldiers were climbing onto the wharf from the sides, presumably having gotten there on some kinds of watercrafts…

"Drop it! Nice and easy…"

Angel cocked his head; either his mind was playing tricks on him, or these guys had no idea what the hell they were doing… 'ioh well, only one way to find out,i/'

Angel snapped the revolver up and aligned the sights with the gunmen's chest and pulled the trigger, sending a heavy three-fifty-seven magnum round through the air and into the camo wearing thugs chest; it punched straight through, taking most of the sternum with it.

As the gunmen crumpled to the ground, the chatter of an automatic weapon erupted behind Angel, from somewhere out on the water.

"Fuck!" Angel grabbed Temptress off the ground with one arm, using the pale woman as a shield as he ran back towards the warehouse, shooting another gunman through the head as the thug tried to hop onto the wharf while Angel ran past him.

As bullets whizzed past his head, Angel leapt off the wharf and ran through the massive front doors of the warehouse.

"Fuck!" he shouted again, as he noticed that a bullet had creased one of his legs.

"Chief what the hell is goin' on?" Skagg demanded, as he ran to front door of the warehouse and began to fire through the doors with an AK-47.

"Skagg I don't think those doors will stop bulle…" Angel began to say, but before he could finish, a dozen bullets ripped through the thin corrugated metal doors, sending Skagg and the rest of the Vikingz diving for the floor.

"Chief we need to get the hell outta here, now!" Animal barked, sliding across the floor to get to Angel, "And what the hell is this bitch doin' here?"

"She's leadin' those morons out there, or was, at least." Angel said, as he wrapped an arm around Temptresses neck, getting a better hold on her.

Det low crawled to the front doors, cradling the laser rifle the Vikingz had stolen form Demona, then aimed it out and looked down the sights,

"Hey check it out, night sites!" he cheerfully declared, before sending three red bolts of energy out into the darkness outside, where a blazing inferno suddenly erupted on the water as a small zodiac went up in a ball of flame.

"Good shit, bro!" Angel shouted, laughing as he watched the flames dancing across the bay, before using the new source of illumination to find target on the water and banging away with his magnum.

A few other Vikingz moved up to the front doors, firing away with pistols and a few heavier weapons they'd pulled from the Vikingz stash of high powered guns.

Whoever was outside returned fire, and three Vikingz were hit, and fell to the filthy concrete floor of the warehouse screaming.

Doc grabbed his medic kit and ran forward from the makeshift clinic, trying to get to the wounded Vikingz, heedless of the bullets flying through the front of the warehouse.

"Doc get the fuck down, man!" Tramp shouted from behind the pile of crates he was hiding behind.

"Fuck you Tramp!" Doc shouted, as he kept running, before grabbing one of the wounded Vikingz and trying to drag him out of the line of fire,

"Goddammit…" Tramp muttered, before running to Docs side and helping him drag the wounded Viking away.

Nearby, Angel was still laying on the ground next to Animal, with the gunmen's leader clamped under his arm when bullet skipped off the ground in front of the and sprayed his eyes with concrete chips,

"AH! SHIT!" Angel shouted, as he rolled over and covered his eyes with both hands in a vain attempt to protect them. Taking advantage of this momentary lapse in the biker captains attention, Temptress scrambled to her feet and bolted for the door.

"Fuck, grab her!!" Animal shouted, as tried to stand up, but knocked off his feet by one of Angels thrashing legs before he was halfway there.

A few Vikingz made half-hearted attempts to grab the fleeing lunatic, but none were successful, and Temptress was soon out the doors and headed for the wharf outside, when she was cut down by a sudden burst of gunfire from somewhere out on the water.

The black robed woman fell to her knees and sat for a moment, staring straight ahead, while the incoming fire slowly dropped off and a cacophony of confused and angry shouts erupted from the gunmen in the boats, then she fell to the decaying wood planks and lay still. Inside the warehouse, Angel watched for moment in surprise as the shooters outside gunned down their own leader, but he quickly recovered and began to take advantage of the sudden confusion.

"DET, SKAGG, GOTHIC! OUTSIDE NOW, ONTO THE ROOFTOPS!!!" the three bikers quickly complied, Det and Skagg moving through the front door while Gothic ducked out a small side entrance, "NORTHWEST, HELP DOC LOAD THE WOUNDED INTO THE CARS," a dozen Vikingz ran to help Doc, "EVERYBODY ELSE LAY DOWN FIRE ON THOSE FUCKERS!!!" the rest of the Vikingz began to pour fire out the front of the warehouse, a few moving outside to get better shots while the rest used the Vikingz arsenal with frightening efficiency, and soon two more boats were burning out on the water.

Someone slid a two way radio across the floor of the warehouse to Angel, who was still near the front, firing his Python.

"CHIEF! Det's on the horn!"

Angel picked up the radio and keyed the transmit switch,

"Yeah, whatsup?"

"It look like our friends are starting to run," there was a pause and an energy bolt flashed from outside the warehouse and took out another boatload of gunmen, "Well what's left of 'em, anyway."

"How many?" Angel asked,

"Looks like there's about three boats left, all starting to pull away."

"Okay gotcha," Angel brought the radio away from his lips and shouted at the Vikingz, "CEASE FIRE!"

Slowly, the fire form inside the warehouse died down, with the shooters outside coming to a ragged halt not long after their comrades inside.

"Alright, lets…"

"COPS!!!" Angels radio suddenly crackled, "WE GOT NYPD INBOUND!!!"

"Shit! Guns in the water, everybody split, Mother stays on me!" Angel shouted.

The Vikingz erupted with activity, running outside and tossing their weapons into the bay, cramming gear into saddlebags, and starting up their bikes, and slowly, in groups of eight to twelve riders, roared out of the warehouse and out unto the streets.

A small handful of bikers began to form up with Angel, including Skagg, Det, Gothic, Basky, Tramp, Jesse, Doc, and Billy.

Angel looked at Doc,

"Shouldn't you go with the cars, bro?"

"Naw, I told Animal to take 'em with him and head for Lesander's down in North Carolina."

Angel shrugged,

"You're the doctor, man, not me." he said, then looked around at the dozen Vikingz surrounding him, "Okay, time to roll…" he tossed Billy his keys back,

"I'm gonna take Smalls' bike for now bro, so you can have your's back."

"Thanks…" Billy dryly responded, throwing a leg over his newly returned ride.

Angel mounted a stripped down green FLHT Electra Glide and waved a finger above his head, signaling his followers to start their bikes, and soon another column of Harleys roared out of their temporary base. Angel paused outside, but waved for the Vikingz to keep moving, then jumped off his bike and ran out to Temptresses sprawled body.

Angel roughly kicked her over and pumped the last shot from his revolver into her head,

he gazed down at her body for a moment, then snorted in amusement before racing down and plucking two small objects out of the puddle of gore that used to be the 'vampires' head, before running back to his bike, which Skagg had pulled up next too,

"What the fuck was that about, Chief?"

"Just makin' sure she don't come back for round three, bro." Angel said, dropping the two objects he'd picked up into one of the front pockets of his vest.

Skagg laughed, while Angel hopped back on his bike, and soon the two were catching up with the pack, and heading off for points unknown in the vast sprawl of New York City.

Brooklyn and Hudson watched as a blue and white Harbor Patrol vessel plied back and forth around the water in front of the Vikingz warehouse hangout, stopping occasionally to pull a floating corpse out of the water.

"I be thinking the morgue's gonna be a bit busy here for awhile."

"Yeah, no shit…" Brooklyn agreed, as he sidled closer to the edge of the building he and Hudson were perched on to get a better look at the scene below,

"Hudson, Brooklyn, have you found anything of the Vikingz'?" Goliaths voice asked form Hudson's communicator.

"Nay lad, 'twould appear the police have beaten us to it."

"What?!?"

"Aye lad, they seem to have missed the Vikingz, but…well their pulling bodies and wreckage out of the bay,"

"Can you tell if their Quarrymen?"

"Nay, lad, I canna, but it seems prudent to get in contact with Bluestone or Elisa and see what the hell is going on…"

"I'll do that, Hudson, but you and Brooklyn should get back to Manhattan immediately."

"Yeah, no problem Goliath," Brooklyn said speaking into his own radio, "But are you sure you don't want us to stick around awhile longer and see if we can pick up any information?"

There was a pause, as Goliath though it over,  
"I'd rather not risk you getting close enough to hear anything useful, so no."

"Alright." Brooklyn said, before hooking his communicator back on his belt.

"Dinna worry yourself lad, I'm sure Elisa'l let us know what 'appened when we get back to th' Castle."

Brooklyn nodded, and the two spread their wings and flew back towards Manhattan.

As it turned out, Brooklyn and Hudson got back to the Eyrie just as Elisa was stepping off of the elevator and into the stone foyer.

"Hey big guy, " Elisa said, visibly brightening when she spotted her leviathan love waiting to greet her.

"My Elisa…" Goliath whispered lovingly, before engulfing the small human in his arms.

"I missed you, Goliath,"  
"And I you, Elisa," Goliath fell silent for a moment. "Would it not ease our heartache of you were to…move closer to the castle?"

Elisa looked up at Goliath and raised an eyebrow,

"By 'closer to the castle' you mean 'into the castle', right?"

"Elisa I only meant…" Goliath began; Elisa moving into the Eyrie was a major point of contention between the two, mainly due to the buildings current ownership.

"We'll talk more about this later, okay big guy?" Elisa said, putting a finger on Goliath's lips to silence him, "Right now I've got some news…"

Goliath nodded, before asking with a smile,

"Good or bad?"

"Little bit of both, I guess."

"I've found that most news is." The gargoyle leader said, philosophically,

Elisa laughed and reached up to plant a quick kiss on Goliaths lips,

"That's my big brooding gargoyle, always gloomy…"

Goliath grinned and ran his talons through Elisa's hair,

"Would you have me any other way, detective?"

Elisa closed her eyes and smiled,

"Never…" then her eyes snapped open again, "But I think we might be getting a little sidetracked here, big guy."

Goliath sighed,  
"So it would seem," he rumbled, "I've asked the clan to gather in the courtyard; Hudson and Brooklyn have already seen the aftermath at the Vikingz warehouse, so that has been covered…what is still unclear is what happened." Goliath turned and walked with Elisa out into the large expanse of open space on the other side of the foyers massive doorway, where the Manhattan clan had gathered.

"Hello Elisa!" Angela called, waving,

"Evening lassie," Hudson said with a nod,

"Hey Elisa!" Broadway called from his place at Angela's side

Lexington grinned and waved, and Brooklyn nodded in Elisa's direction.

"So I take it Brook and Hudson told everyone about the Vikingz warehouse?"

"Yes, Elisa, they did. It sounds…messy." Angela said, and the others nodded,

Elisa shook her head,

"Between this and the thing with the Outlaws and Quarrymen, I think the coroners going to be back logged for months." Brooklyn sent a covert grin at Hudson, Elisa paused and stuck her hands in her jacket pockets, "Fifteen dead, or at least that's what we'd pulled out of the water the last time I got a count, including that dark and gruesome Vampire chick…"

Brooklyn's head shot up, "I thought she was arrested?"  
Elisa sighed, "She was Brook, but she bailed out, pending her first hearing."

"Bailed out on kidnapping charges?" Xanatos asked, from atop a nearby wall, where he had apparently been listening to the clans meeting. "Excuse me, but she bailed out on charges of kidnapping two New York City ipolice officersi/?" he shook his head, incredulity etched on his usually calm face.

Elisa turned and glared at the billionaire,  
"You can bail out on just about nay charge as lone as you have the money, Xanatos. But, I'm sure you already know that, right?"

Xanatos raised an eyebrow,  
"And where exactly did she obtain that kind of money?"

Elisa shrugged,

"It turns out our 'Vampire's' real name is Sarah Singleton…"

"As in the daughter of Senator Singleton?" Xanatos asked,

"Yep."

"Oh joy…" Xanatos rolled his eyes, "How did she die?"

"Multiple gun shot wounds to the torso, apparently from her own followers…"

"Who's this Senator Singleton?" Brooklyn asked,

"The head of the senate oversight committee for the justice department…" Xanatos began

"And his family has almost as much money as Xanatos." Elisa interrupted, "Which means he has both money and political power, which he can bring to bear on this investigation to pressure us to find out exactly who killed his daughter…"

"So?" Broadway asked, "Why's that such a bad thing, it means that either this cult or the Vikingz all go to jail."

"I don't think this cult had that many members left to arrest, Broadway. I checked with the guys running the investigation on the run in I had with them last month, according to records they've seized, it appears their were a grand total of thirty people in this group,

and between the Vikingz raid on the club and the gunfight tonight, it looks like over two-thirds of the membership have been killed."

"What about the leader you told me of, the man with the spikes?" Goliath asked  
Elisa shook her head,

"His real name was Darrel Sanders, and we still haven't been able to locate him. We've got a warrant out for him, but no one seems to have heard a thing from him since the attack on his club, although we can guess he had a run in with a motorcycle gang allied with the Vikingz at some point because I ended up being plucked out of the trunk of the bastards car by the Vikingz at the end of the night."

"I guess we can assume he's not the picture of health then, right?" Lexington asked,

"I'm hesitant to say he's dead without seeing a body…but yeah, I don't think we're going to see him again. At least not alive."

"Well I guess that takes care of that problem…" Angela said.

"Maybe…" Goliath said, "But I've found that our enemies have a habit of coming back, regardless of how apparent it seems that we've seen the last of them."

"Maybe we should just try killing 'em. Seems to work fine for the Vikingz." Brooklyn pointed out, smiling.

Goliath turned and glared at his Second,

"Gargoyles do not kill, Brooklyn, unless we are presented with no other option. What this…gangster does is an insult to our kind, and I will not allow this clan to sink to his level."

Brooklyn took a step back under Goliaths withering stare.  
"Jeez, Goliath. I was just kidding."

"It's not a matter to joke about."

"Sorry…"

Goliath sighed,

"It's a very slippery slope Brooklyn…its best not to start down it."

Brooklyn nodded, seemingly very contrite.

Goliath sent one last look at him before turning his gaze back to Elisa,

"I'm sorry, Elisa, please continue…"

"Right…anyway, it looks like we can cut this cult out of the picture more or less permanently."

"And wha' of the Vikingz, lass?"

"Nothing. All we can tell is that they left in a hurry…they left behind five motorcycles, all registered under false names, a few guns, and almost all of the money Xanatos paid them." Elisa said, glancing over at the billionaire.

Xanatos shrugged,

"Guess they don't know how to properly protect their assets."

Elisa rolled her eyes,

"How's that thing with Dracon coming?' Brooklyn asked next,

The raven haired detective sighed in exasperation,

"It looks like he's going to worm his way out of this…again."

"Why's that?"

"Well, we have the confession from that goombah, but it's starting to look like that won't be enough."

"Why's that?"

"The circumstances of the confession are foolproof, even though I had a little…outside assistance. But since it's a homicide investigation now, things might get a little shaky as to why we brought them in for questioning on a theft investigation and ended up with a murder confession. Nothing that will really form a good defense, but it will raise some questions in court, and that might be enough to get them off the hook…"

Broadway shook his head,

"Is there ianyi? way this bastard is ever going to get locked up?"

"He'll screw up eventually Broadway; sooner or later they always do."

The aqua marine gargoyle shrugged,

"I guess we should hope its sooner rather than later…"

Angela set a hand on her loves shoulder,

"It would be nice to have one less enemy to worry about. It seems like every time we turn around, another rises to challenge us." She sighed thinking of the Hunters, Quarrymen, Thailog…and the army of outlaw bikers who had somehow nearly managed to succeed where so many other's had failed.

"Come on Angela, things aren't that bad…" Broadway said, trying to cheer up his love.

"I suppose your right."

Elisa sent a questioning look at Goliath, who nodded,

"Is that everything, Elisa?" he asked, loudly.

"Think so, as long as there aren't anymore questions?"

No one said anything, and the meeting broke up.

Elisa walked over to Goliaths side and the two walked to the top of a nearby wall, and then stood silently gazing over the city for a moment.

Elisa was first to break the mutual silence,

"So what has everyone so down?"

Goliath sighed,

"The fight the other night has most of clan in poor spirits…and me as well, to be honest."

"Why?"

"We are unaccustomed to defeat, my Elisa."

"From the look of things, I wouldn't say you were idefeatedi/…"

"We were, or as much as it matters. And to have lost to ones such as those…common thugs…is almost unthinkable."

Elisa shook her head,

"I think they just got lucky Goliath, and besides, if you would have stuck around, a civilian was bound to have caught some stray gunfire."

"I know that, Elisa, but I worry…what if the next enemy to get iluckyi/ is the Pack? Or one of the third race? Or just a drug dealer with an assault rifle?" Goliath shook his head, "There aren't many of us left, my Elisa."

"I know, Goliath. But the risks you and the clan take are the same as any of the cops in this city run everyday we go to work…and if it wasn't for your clan out their every night, risking your necks alongside us, who knows what Demona or Xanatos or one the others might have succeeded in doing…"

Goliath sighed, and smiled, wondering how many times he or Elisa had restored the others faith.

"Thank you Elisa."

"Anytime, Big Guy."

Elisa reached over and entwined her fingers with Goliaths massive talons,

then leaned her head against his huge bicep, and the two stood, together, and gazed out into the night.

On the other side of the castle, a red-hued gargoyle silently crept to the wall, where he spread his wings and prepared to leap off into the air currents.

"Where you goin' Brook?"

Brooklyn stopped dead and turned to find Lexington glaring at him,,

"Uh…out…"

"Out where?"

"Ummm, its complicated…"

"Really? Is it the same place you've been going every week since you went to that biker party?

Brooklyn's eyes widened, and he looked at the ground,

"I, uh…don't know what your talking about…"

"She got a friend?"

Brooklyn's looked up and surprise,

"Well actually itheyi/ do…"

Lexington grinned,

"Well, then, is cool if I tag along? Or are you gonna be a fuckin' holdout?"

Brooklyn's jaw dropped,

"I…ah…yes?"

"Cool, lets roll."

Lexington hopped up on the parapet next to Brooklyn,

"Lead on." he told his still flabbergasted brother.

Across the city, in Brooklyn, a man walked up the stairs of his apartment building, pulling off his blue hood as he went. He was excited; it had been his first night out hunting gargoyles, and he knew that at least ionei/ of the statues he and his friends had smashed tonight had to be a gargoyle, cowering form him and his righteous comrades by turning to stone, just like Mr. Castaway said they did.

He was smiling as he slid his keys into the front door of his apartment, he couldn't wait to tell that chick in accounting about his adventures; now she'd definitely go out with him!

Then a strong, black leather clad arm wrapped around his head and covered his mouth, and he felt a sharp pain form his side, and then something cold sliding around in his kidney. Then he felt the cold blade withdraw, and the arm left his mouth.

The Quarryman crumpled to the floor, and soon his screams echoed down the staircase, drowning out the sound of booted feet running away at full speed.

And far, far away from both the two young gargoyles and freshly punctured Quarryman, far from the urban sprawl of the city, a line of chromed out customized Harley Davidson's were pulled up in the courtyard of a seedy highway-side motel.

Inside one of the rooms, a dozen bikers were meeting, the dim light of the hotel room splashing down on the blue and green patches on their backs.

"Why the fuck aren't we halfway to Tijuana?" Gothic asked,

"Because dipshit, if we fuck off and leave the Outlaws too it, their all gonna end up fucked over and in jail inside a week." Angel snapped,

"So? They got a good fuckin' reason to end up in jail! If these hammer boys hit a fuckin' funeral, they deserve whatever the hell's comin' to 'em!" Doc yelled.

Angel turned and glared,

"If the Outlaws take care of business, it's a cinch the feds'll bust 'em, and use that bust as an excuse to jam every other fucking MC in the country as hard as they can"  
"Chief's right!" Skagg shouted, "We let the Outlaws get crazy, and the whole fuckin' world is gonna be against us again." The Vikingz VP shook his head, "No way brothers, been there done that. I like it the way it is now, the damn citizens are so far on our side, the pigs can't find a jury in the country that would but a one-percenter behind bars."

"And the one thing that might wreck that in a hurry is a bunch of bikers battling in the streets with a fuckin' army of heavily armed nutcases out for 'the public good'." Basky pointed out.

"Well then, what the fuck ARE we gonna do?' Billy Demanded

"Fuck…" Angel looked at the ceiling, thinking, "Waitaminit…heavily armed nutcases…"

"Huh?"

Angel stood up and began to pace the room,

"We need to get a list of the Quarrymen's weapons, and a few pictures of them using 'em"

"Why?" Tramp asked, confused

"Because I gotta plan, motherfucker." Angel said, walking out the door and motioning for his club to follow.

Back in New York, in one of the dark tunnels surrounding the Labyrinth, Deliliah watched the as the dark skinned gargoyle in front of her finished buckling his loincloth back on,

"Tell no one of this," the gargoyle growled, his voice a cold mockery of the Wyvern clan's noble leader.

"Yes Master Thailog…" Delilah covered her bare breast with her arms and shivered,

and felt the tears flow down her cheeks.

Thailog sneered,

"And don't let them see you like this." Thailog buckled on a last piece of steel armor,

"Yes Master Thailog." Delilah whispered, gathering her clothes together.

Thailog smiled. It was not a pleasant sight.

"I'll see you again next week, same time same place."

Delilah nodded and forced a smile; she knew what would happen if she didn't.

"Of course, Master Thailog."

"Excellent." Thailog turned and disappeared down the tunnel, leaving Delilah to fumble on her tight leotard, jacket, and gauntlets.

Then she stood unsteadily, and stumbled back towards the Labyrinth.

As she entered through a side tunnel, she almost ran into Burbank, who was guarding the entrance, he brightened when he saw Delilah, but his expression quickly sank when he saw her face,

"Delilah okay?" he asked, worried.

"I-I…" itell no onei/, Thailog's words echoed in her mind, "I'm fine Burbank…but I'd like…to be alone."

"Okay." Burbank nodded, but he mentally resolved to discuss this with Talon, even though he wasn't sure he should.

Delilah walked past the clone and stumbled into the Labyrinths rec room, made a beeline for the computer terminal inside it, and sat down in the battered leather office chair inside it. Delilah shuddered-the leather upholstery reminded her of Thailogs wings…

Doing her best to ignore the feeling, she flicked te mouse and brought the idle computer to life, its dark screen brightening.

Delilah guided the cursor over the internet icon and double clicked, then waited as the modem connected to the internet. Soon as it did, she brought up her favorite search engine, then looked down at the keyboard an frowned in concentration as she slowly typed out a name unto the screen, enunciating the words as she entered them,

"H, E,…L,L,S, A…N,G, E, L…S"

She smiled faintly after successfully entering the name, then hit 'enter'.

She flicked the mouse wheel down as she surveyed the list of websites, before one caught her eye.

She double clicked on it, and soon the screen darkened and began displaying images of winged skulls, custom motorcycles, and burly, tattooed bikers.

Delilah surveyed the images carefully, and then frowned when she didn't find what she was looking for.

"Why can't I find him?" she whispered.

Delilah again closed her eyes, this time thinking of the gargoyle who had swaggered into the Labyrinth, remembered following his every movement from the shadows, admiring his air of studied disinterest and casual defiance, how everything from the way he walked to the clothes he wore seemed to display for all the world that he was the master of his own fate. She sighed when she thought of meeting the swaggering outlaw in the Labyrinths rec room, and wished the biker could have seen how long it had taken her to gather the courage to get that close.

She hadn't known what to say when he'd spotted her in the shadows, and cursed herself for her fumbled awkward words, but she hadn't known what else to do.

She smiled faintly as she remembered Angels casual complement, then the smile fell away as she remembered Angel's quick conversation on the phone, then watching the outlaw turn to leave while she desperately tried to think of something, anything to say…

but Angel had paused just before the door, turned around, cocked his head, and raised an eyebrow ridge over the dark sunglasses he was wearing.

i"See you around, Delilah…"i/ there was a flicker of movement behind the sunglasses that may or may not have been a wink, then in a blur of black leather and a final glimpse of a green and blue three piece patch, he ducked outside and was gone.

"I'll find you my Angel…" Delilah said aloud, not caring who heard.


	17. Chapter 17

"But whhhhhyyyyyyy?"

"Because Basky."

"C'mon Chief…"

"Just do it Basky."

Basky looked at the twirling blue and white pole in front of the shop the bikers were looking at as if it were a dire warning of danger,

"Fiiinnnne."

"Just get it over with, bro."

Elisa slipped into the back of the 21st precincts briefing room and slid into a seat next to Morgan,

"What'd I miss?" she whispered to her fellow officer,

"Not much…just that the Outlaws and Black Pistons have picked off a half dozen Quarrymen since the funeral thing yesterday, so we're supposed to be on the lookout for World War Three in the streets tonight…"

Captain Chavez looked up sharply as the whispered strains of Morgan and Elisa's side conversation reached her ears,

"Ah, I see you've decided to join us Detective…."

Elisa looked straight ahead and her faced reddened slightly,

"Sorry Captain."

Chavez shook her head,

"I hate to sound like your second grade teacher, Maza, but I need to see you after the briefing."

The briefing room erupted in half muffled snickers, and a few amused and sympathetic glances were sent Elisa's way by the rest of the cops in the room.

The raven haired detective tried to sink as low in the cheap plastic chair she was seated in as she could, until Chavez wrapped up her briefing with a dire warning about confronting either enraged outlaw bikers out for revenge or heavily armed and paranoid Quarrymen without the benefit of backup officers.

As the room cleared after the briefing, Elisa stood and waded through the crowd towards the podium in front, where the captain was waiting.

"What's up?" Elisa asked,

Chavez produced a picture of the twisted remains of Angel's chopper, scattered across a broken and oil-stained concrete floor,

"This bike was recovered at the scene of that gun battle in Brooklyn last night," Captain Chavez raised an eyebrow, "The VIN numbers on the frame were used to positively identify it as a bike that was involved in a crash in Manhattan, a crash that occurred a few feet away from a spot where a Quarrymen helicopter made an very unscheduled stop…and that bike was sold to…"

"Me."

"Exactly."

"Oh boy…"

"I got this from Internal Affairs." Captain Chavez bleakly commented, "I told them I wouldn't say anything to you, but I'm going to go out on a limb, and give you one chance to explain, exactly, how the hell this happened."

Elisa cleared her throat as her mind raced, trying desperately to come up with a plausible story,

"Well, I did pick that bike up from the Auction, as a project, you know, something to fill up my days off…"

Chavez raised an eyebrow,

"I didn't know you were into bikes."

"Figured I'd give it a shot…"

"A chopper isn't exactly a beginner's bike, especially one that needs the amount of work this one did."

"Like I said, I wanted something to fill up my schedule, and I figured this might be just what the doctor ordered; I mean I went down there looking for a car to tinker with, but then this bike came up, and well, I liked it."

"That still doesn't explain how…"

"Well, I went back to the auction yard to pick it up in my dad's SUV, and I got into a wreck later that day…and when I woke up, the bike was gone. I tried to find it, but it was gone…" Elisa looked at Chavez intently, wondering if she'd buy the line she'd just been fed.

Slowly, Chavez nodded,

"It sounds a lot more plausible then you…collaborating with an outlaw motorcycle gang, that's for sure."

Elisa laughed, a mixture of amusement and pure relief,

"But I'm going to check that story out, just so we can iprove/i to those morons in IA that you have nothing to do with that bike being where it was…"

"Heh heh…oh shiiittt."

"What was that?"

"Nothing, see ya later Captain…" Elisa turned and headed for the door.

On the other side of the river from the Police Precinct in Manhattan, two tall, mean looking bikers stormed through the front entrance of a small meat packing company, each one wearing a leather vest adorned with an identical three piece patch; A white bottom rocker with 'CALIFORNIA' in black, and a top rocker, also white, with the name 'MONGOLS', in the same black lettering as the bottom. In between the two rockers was a large center patch, depicting a Mongol warrior in outlaw biker regalia mounted on a chopped Harley.

As the pair rounded a corner, they were met by a trio of Outlaws, who regarded the two Mongols with surprise,

"Reaper, I didn't think…"

"Where is he?" asked one of the Mongols, who was sleeved out in prison tattoos and wore a cut off black hooded sweatshirt under his colors.

"Through here." another Outlaw said, and motioned for the Mongol called 'Reaper' to follow him, while the second Mongol waited with the Outlaws.

The two New York bikers nervously watched the tall, brooding Mongol as he impatiently stood and waited for his friends return.

"So, uh, I hate to be a jerk, but…"

"Its taken care of. The fuck that killed your brothers is going out; tonight."

"Oh, uhh…cool."

The Mongol opened his mouth to say something else, but shut up abruptly when 'Reaper' returned, wheeling along a hospital style gurney, which was bare except for the body of a gray haired biker in Mongol colors

"Thanks for lookin' out for him ihermanos/i, but we got it from here, eh?" Reaper said, as he and the tall Mongol wheeled the gurney out through the door.

"…lights out convicts, in your cells!!!" a loud voice commanded over the Rikers Island PA system. The voice drew a chorus of profane comments from the orange jump suited inmates of housing unit B who were milling about in the large common area in front of their multi-tiered cell block, but slowly they complied, watched by a pair of guards in a control room overlooking the whole block. An inmate with swarthy Italian features and a shock of white hair in his black mane was the slowest to comply, and when he did walk back to his cell, it was with a resentful glare at a tall black man wearing glasses who was heading to a cell down the tier from his own.

Dracon cursed his lieutenant again,

How had Glasses fucked up so bad? He had almost been out of this hole one moment, then sitting in his cell and waiting for an arraignment on imurder/i charges, all because Glasses couldn't handle a simple hit on some Quarrymen and outlaw bikers.

Dracon muttered a few more insults under his breath, and then turned to find that his cellmate had snatched the top bunk.

"Am I gonna have to kick your ass again Brode?" Dracon demanded, squaring his shoulders and glaring at the Czech mobster, "Top bunks mine."

Brode laughed,

"I don't recall you doing anything to my ass but stare at it, Dracon."

"iWhat?/i"

"I see the way you look at me, Tony…prison getting to you so soon? Of course, you iare/i going to be here awhile…"

"You fuckin' piece 'a shit!" Dracon shouted, as he lunged across the cell at Brode, who hopped off the bunk and tackled Dracon.

As the two struggled, the guards in the control room spotted the fight, and one slammed on an alarm while the other locked down the cells before heading down a flight of stairs to meet an onrushing quartet of guards in riot gear,

"Cell 2-3!!! Cell 2-3!!!" he shouted, as he unlocked the heavy barred door that led into the cell block. The response team rushed into the cell block, whose prisoners were now all going berserk, banging on their cell doors and shouting at the guards, up the stairs to the second tier, where they lined up outside Brode and Dracon's cell, which swung open when the guard in the control room saw the response team was ready.

The heavily armed guards swarmed inside, yanking the bloody and battered mobsters apart before dosing them both with pepper spray. Brode shrilled with pain, and his cries of pain brought the cell blocks inmates to a new pique of insanity, as laughter at the Czech mobster's pain added to din of taunts and clattering. Dracon bit down on his pain, and tried to look unconcerned as the guards dragged him out of the cell and led him down the tier with Brode not far behind.

They were halfway there when the doors of the rest of cell block suddenly swung open.

"Oh shit…" one of the riot guards whispered, as he yanked out his heavy steel baton and pepper spray.

The other inmates fell silent for a moment, then they swarmed outside of their cells, flooding the tiers with a sea of orange uniforms.

The guards on the second tier of cells attempted to hold unto their two prisoners for a moment, but they quickly gave up and began to desperately battle their way towards the cell block exit. Dracon shook his head, his eyes still stinging form the pepper spray and tired to get his bearing in the chaos that was suddenly surrounding him. He heard a scuffle nearby, and turned to find Glasses was at the other end of the tier, surrounded by three heavily tattooed Latinos. Dracon blinked unsure of what was happening…and then one of the Latin's got a hold of Glasses and tossed him over the railing like he was nothing more than a rag doll. Dracon watched in horror as his lieutenant fell to the ground and landed with a wet *crunch* as his neck snapped on the hard concrete floor of the common area. The three Latinos then turned and began to head purposefully towards the New York mob boss. Dracon cursed, before trying to run towards the opposite end of the tier. But when he turned, he found another heavily tattooed Latin was a few feet away from him, clutching a crude prison made knife in his right hand.

Dracon backed away, desperately trying to figure out what to do, and then he felt his arms being pinned form behind, and the knife wielding Latino suddenly rushed forward and plunged his shiv into the side of Dracons neck.

"iLa Eme/i looks out for its friends, i pendejo/i!", the killer snarled, before yanking his blade out of Dracons neck and tossing it aside. The killers accomplice let Dracons limp body fall to the floor, and the two dashed off and left the dying mobster to bleed out on the cold concrete ground of the tier.

The following night, Goliath walked into the massive library of Castle Wyvern and collapsed unto one of the massive leather couches inside.

"Long night father?"

Goliath looked around in surprise, and found Angela looking down at him form the walkway around the second floor of my library.

"Yes, it has been somewhat difficult my daughter." Goliath said, smiling slightly and sitting up as Angela came down from the second floor and took a seat on a chair across from her father, "But that's not really what I'm worried about."

Angela opened her mouth to speak, but Hudson opened the door to the library and walked in before she could speak.

"Am I interuptin'?" the old gargoyle asked when he saw Angela and Goliath.

Angela looked at her father, who shook his head.

"Not really Hudson."

"Alrigh' then, I'm just going ta' pick up a book." Hudson ambled into the room and began to look through the bookcases that lined the walls.

Angela turned back to her father,

"So, what is bothering you?"

"I've been thinking about the biker…"

Angela smiled; 'the biker' was her father's favorite euphemism for Angel, usually delivered in ways that conveyed supreme disapproval. It seemed that even though the Vikingz had disappeared a week earlier, after the gunfight at their hangout, their leader was still a major topic of conversation amongst the Wyvern clan.

"And?"

"I keep thinking that it seems like our race will never find a way to live peacefully alongside humans, and then I see this gargoyle who's integrated himself completely with a human society…who inspires the loyalty and trust of dozens of humans, all of whom would still try and kill ius/i if given half a chance."

Angela nodded,

"I've wondered that myself."

Hudson looked over at the two,

"Can I intrude for a bit?" he asked, walking over.

"Of course Hudson, I always value your opinion."

"Thanks, lad." Hudson smiled and nodded at his clan leader, before sitting down in a chair next to Angela, "I see it like this…Angel has become a part of this outlaw underworld, and has been accepted by a good deal of it, it seems. But he's completely sacrificed wha' it means ta' be a gargoyle to fit in."

Goliath nodded, but Angela looked thoughtful,

"That can't be it. Just because Angel has given up what we believe to be gargoyle instinct and tradition and adopted the ways of a human society, it can't be the only reason he fits in so well with these motorcycle gangs."

Hudson and Goliath looked thoughtful,

"You got a point there, lass." Hudson said, stroking his beard, "But how do ye figure it then?"

"Angel has never been accepted by humans."

"What?'

"He's been accepted by outlaws, people who don't live within the bounds of the greater society, who are used to dealing in extremes, and besides that, Angel seems to be a fixture in their world, he was there at the beginning, and has stayed in that life since then."

"So your saying he's taken for granted?"

"Exactly. They don't see him as anything more than another biker, while we're still seen as a threat because we're new."

Hudson and Goliath both nodded,

"That's pretty clear thinkin' there lass."

"Indeed daughter."

"But I think the main problem has nothing to do with ihow/i Angel has been accepted by these outlaws, its more that he ihas/i been accepted by them."

Goliath looked confused, but Hudson snorted in amusement,

"I have to admit tha' wonde' if th' first time any of these humans see a gargoyle up close is gonna be th' young lad shoved against a police car in handcuffs on 'Cops'."

Goliath sighed,

"The first time our race interacts in the open with humans this century…an outlaw biker with wings on trial for drug peddling." he rolled his eyes, "It wouldn't surprise me in the least."

Angela laughed, Hudson grinned, and neither one admitted they were both thinking the same thing as Goliath.

"Hey Tramp, you get those uniforms?" Angel asked,

"Yeah. Picked 'em up this afternoon."

"Good. Skagg and Gothic picked up the right kind of truck, so I guess we're set."

Angel turned and looked over at Det, Gothic, and Basky, who were each sporting brand new military style crew cuts.

"Comfortable boys?" the outlaw chieftain asked.  
"Fuck, I haven't had this shitty a cut since I got outta prison…" Det whined,

"Quit yer bitchin' pussy." Angel said, "I think Doc and Psycho have the papers you'll need, so get suited up and we'll get this show on the road." Angel kicked open the door of the cheap motel room and led his army out into the night.

Two nights later, Elisa was sighing in exasperation and leaning on her Fairlane in front of New York City's largest National Guard armory and watching as one of the biggest groups of police and federal agents she'd ever seen swarmed all around her.

A call had gone out earlier that night, announcing that the Armory had been raided, and that an unknown amount of weaponry was missing. The first responders had found out that a group of three men wearing army uniforms and driving a military truck had bluffed their way past the three civilian guards paid to watch the building using forged documents and orders, and had cleaned the place out. The best part was, it had taken a day and a half for anyone to figure out they'd been duped!

"Too bad Dracons dead, huh Maza?" A cop in plainclothes asked, as he walked over and leaned on the Fairlane next to Elisa, "I mean this looked like a perfect crime for your usual suspect."

"Bite me, Blake." Dracons death was still salt in the wound to Elisa, who was unsure of whether to shout with glee that he was finally gone or scream in frustration that he hadn't been tried and convicted of high crimes in a court of law…either way, she was relatively sure she had a winged outlaw biker to blame.

The other detective looked down at a clipboard he was holding and shook his head,  
"Wanna hear the damage?"

"I guess so…"

"Four crates of Stinger anti-aircraft missiles, two TOW wire guided anti-tank launchers with three crates of rockets apiece, seven crates of LAW-66 rocket launchers, four cases of frag grenades, two cases of white phosphorous grenades, five cases of Claymore mines, six cases of C-4 plastic explosive along with all the fuses and detonators you could ever want, three fifty-caliber machine guns, and enough guns and ammunition to hold off the entire Marine Corps."

Elisa rolled her eyes and looked skyward,

"What the hell did we do to deserve this?"

"Something very, very bad, I'd imagine, but it gets better…"

Elisa looked over at Blake,

"How?"

"That just what they've come up with iso far/i."

"Oh Jesus H. Christ…"

Blake nodded and looked back down at his list,

"Oh, one more thing that's a bit odd…"

"What?"

"A whole pallet load of thirty-round M-16 magazines were taken as well…"

"That is weird…why would the thieves take up space with those instead of more weaponry?"

"No idea…anyway, the feds are insisting that they handle this."

"Fine with me…as long as they want to bet the ones on the receiving end of all that hardware when it hits the street."

Blake hissed in pain at that idea,

"Lets hope whoever stole this stuff is just gonna sell it to the Serbians or something, huh?"

"We can only hope…and by hope I mean pray."

"Yep."

"I take it the feds are going to start kicking us out soon, right?"

"Looks like it."

Sighing in exasperation, Elisa opened the side door of her Fairlane and hopped in,

"Then I'm calling it a night and heading back to the 21st."

"Later Maza." Blake said as he headed towards his own vehicle.

High above the city, Hudson, Lexington and Angela were on patrol when their communicators crackled to life,

"Guys, I've got some real bad news…" Elisa announced,

"What's that Elisa?" Brooklyn's voice asked over the net,

"I just came from the main National Guard armory in the city…someone's cleaned out enough firepower from it to start World War Three."

"What?!?" Angela asked, suddenly quite worried…

"I just had a rundown of what was stolen…be on the lookout up there, guys."

There was a moment of silence,

"You too, Elisa." Goliath finally said, breaking the quiet, "Everyone…be careful. Something is likely to go very wrong tonight…"

Later that night, two black vans pulled to a stop in front of the three story office building that served the Quarrymen group as headquarters.

Inside the vans a dozen heavily armed men were preparing for action, racking the bolts on their assault rifles and sub machine guns. The dim light in the vans reflected slightly off the bright insignias on their backs, each one identical to the next.

"Chief, are you sure we won't need more guys for this?" one of the gunmen asked a massive black clad figure in the front seat,

"Doubt it. With all these shiny new toys, I think we got it."

"Aright sir, your in charge…"

The figure turned to look at the four gunmen in the back seat.

"Ready?" he asked

"Yes sir." the men in the back chorused,

"Then lets do it." The leader keyed a microphone that was wrapped around his throat,

"All right…it's a go! GO GO GO!!!" he swung open his door and ran towards the office building with the other twelve black clad gunmen right behind him.

Across town, Elisa was just walking back into her apartment after her shift was over when her phone began to ring. Sighing in annoyance, Elisa picked up the receiver,

"Hello?" She asked tiredly,

"Elisa, turn you TV on to CNN!" an excited voice commanded.

"What?" Elisa's exhausted mind finally identified the voice, "Matt what the hell…"

"Trust me, you'll like what you see!"

Elisa walked fumbled around her apartment until she found her remote setting on top of the fridge,

"Godammit Broadway…" she muttered as she walked back over to her TV and turned it on, flipping through channels until she came across CNN.

"…breaking news from New York," the announcer was saying. "The citizens group known as the 'Quarrymen' was raided this morning by Agents of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms."

A video showing uniformed Quarrymen being dragged into a prison bus by armed troopers with the letters ATF emblazoned on the backs of their assault vests played behind the announcer,

"The raids followed intelligence reports that the Quarrymen group was in possession of a large amount of weaponry stolen from a National Guard armory…early reports from the ATF indicate they seized not only large amounts of these stolen weapons at various properties linked to the Quarrymen, including two anti tank launchers and several crates of surface to air missiles…several dozen arrests and indictments have surfaced, with more still coming in…but at this stage it would appear that nearly the entire Quarrymen organization has been eradicated."

"Wow…" Elisa whispered,

"Pretty cool, huh?"

"Wow…" Elisa sat down on her couch,

"You okay?"

"Wow…" the events of past few days finally caught up with Elisa…she was under investigation by Internal Affairs for her involvement with an outlaw biker…her once most despised nemesis had been stabbed to death in a prison riot…and the group of heavily armed bigots that had sworn to exterminate her closest friend s had just been wiped out in a single night of federal raids.

"Uh...hello?"

"iWow/i."

Elisa shook her head, unsure whether to shout with joy, scream in terror, or just pass out.

She finally decided on a fourth option.

"Matt. I'm going to go to bed now. Talk to you tomorrow."

"Huh?"

Elisa hit the end button on her cordless phone, tossed it unto the coffee table, turned the TV off, and stumbled towards her bedroom in a daze.


	18. Chapter 18

"Now this…is awesome." Brooklyn smiled from ear to ear as he watched a video of ATF agents herding a group of Quarrymen into a paddy wagon on the big screen TV in the Eyrie buildings rec room.

"Once again, late last night agents of the Bureau of Alcohol Tobacco and Firearms raided almost a dozen offices and residences of member of the Quarrymen last night in New York City…" the CNN anchorwoman said, before pausing, the hurriedly announcing "And we're going to bring you a live feed from the BATF offices in New York, where several senior agents are preparing to release a statement to the press…" The screen abruptly switched to a man in a suit standing behind a podium with and array of microphones in front,

"Last night, as you are all aware now, agents from my office, as well as from neighboring cities, raided many locations linked to the militia group known as the Quarrymen. We had strong reason to believe that they had been stockpiling large amounts of illegal weaponry, and our beliefs were confirmed when we recovered well over two hundred unlicensed firearms, illegal and stolen heavy weapons, and four heavily armed attack helicopters…" the agent pointed to a long table that was laden with anti-tank rocket launchers, machine guns, laser rifles, grenade launchers, shoulder fired surface-to-air missiles, along with a dozen Quarry hammers, and a pair of net launchers, "On that table is a very small proportion of the weaponry we recovered. Alright, questions?"

Bedlam erupted, and the agent pointed to someone off camera,

"What's your question?"

"Agent Queen, what prompted these raids?"

"As I said, we found reason to believe that the Quarrymen had been stockpiling illegal munitions, we came to believe tat after a tip from an anonymous informant came in stating that he had seen these stockpiles. After several days of surveillance on the Quarrymen group, we witnessed members in possession of these weapons, and acted quickly to get a warrant and execute these raids"

"What made you act so hastily, Agent Queen?"

"Hastily?" a new voice demanded; the camera panned over to show an African American man dressed in full ATF assault gear, "Sir, those people were more heavily armed than many armies. Would you prefer we waited until they unleashed those weapons in the middle of the city?"

"I…well obviously your judgment on these matters is clear."

The agent in the suit raised an eyebrow, then moved unto the next reporter,

"Your question?"

"Sir members of the Quarrymen have been loudly denying any knowledge of these weapons, especially the ones that were apparently stolen form the National Guard armory last week…"

"Ma'm, we've found ample evidence that these weapons were dispersed under the order of John Castaway, leader of the Quarrymen. That's all I have to say about that."

"Follow up question, have you captured Castaway?"

"No ma'm, we have not. We have a warrant out for his arrest and are distributing his picture to law enforcement agencies across the nation…that's really all I can tell you about that matter. Ok, one last question…Miss St. John?"

"Agent Queen, how do you justify stripping away the public greatest defense against the Gargoyle Menace?"

Agent Queen rolled his eyes, then looked incredulously at the blond reporter;

"Miss St John, I don't care what fairy tale creatures these people were out to get, the fact remains these people were breaking the law and endangering the lives of their fellow citizens."

"'Fairy tale creatures'? Agent Queen, the footage from St. Damien's clearly shows…"

"Ma'm, let me phrase it ivery/i clearly: I don't care about this gargoyle joke your so enamored with; what I care about is protecting the people of the United States from heavily armed nutcases. Or would you prefer that I just let them be, and you could have written up the story when one those lunatics accidentally shot down a passenger plane with one of those Stingers over on the table?"

"I…"

"This conference is over." Agent Queen turned to leave, and Goliath used the remote to turn off the TV. The huge gargoyle turned to look at his clan;

"It would appear…that we have had an extraordinary stroke of good fortune."

Hudson nodded dourly, never one to count his eggs before they've hatched,

"Aye lad…but time will tell."

Angela was giddy, ecstatic; unable to contain herself, she embraced Broadway,

"Finally…some peace!"

Brooklyn and Lexington high-fived,

Goliath turned to Hudson,

"I am concerned about Castaway, old friend…"

"As am I, lad; with tha' madman runnin' loose, it's only a matter of time before he comes up with some other bunch to try an' kill us."

Goliath sighed,

"Still, a moments peace is better than one at all."

Hudson grinned,

"Tha's the spirit laddie!"

Meanwhile, in a tunnel near the Labyrinth,

Delilah watched Thailog approach her form the dark.

She wanted to leave, wanted to run, wanted to scream for help…but whenever she thought of any those things, single overriding command overrode them;

i"Obey Thailog./i

She couldn't do anything but obey when the clone ordered her to strip.

She couldn't do anything when he told her to lay down on the filthy mattress.

All she could do was wait, hope it would be over soon, and think of something else. She felt Thailog laying down on top of her, but she did not see it, she was miles away, thinking, as she usually did lately, of the tattooed, leather clad dream that had wondered into her life…

When Thailog entered her, she felt a sharp pain, but she was lost in her memory, remembering the bright flame tattoos on Angel's arms…they were so intricate, with the orange and red flames carefully woven with images of skulls, snakes, dragons…such art! And the other ones…

Distantly, Delilah felt Thailog begin to thrust inside of her.

,,,The other Tattoos on his arms! The faded winged skull on his left forearm, which she had found out was called a 'Death Head', and was the insignia of the Hells Angels…and the other forearm! An intricate copy of the Vikingz insignia, with the Viking helmet and crossed axes laid out in almost photographic detail, with the name 'Vikingz' arching across the top, and 'Nomads' under it, both in dark green lettering. Delilah began to wonder if the tattoos continued under Angels shirt…they probably did. She began to wonder what they looked like, then what Angel looked like without shirt. Really, he was the only gargoyle she knew who wore so many clothes…what would he look like in a loincloth? She began to imagine.

Unconsciously Delilah began to meet Thailogs thrusts…

For no reason she could pin down, Delilah began to wonder what it would be like if Angel did the Thailog did to her…

Delilah wrapped her arms around Thailogs back.

It would certainly be different, she knew.

Delilah closed her eyes and gasped, then arched her back…

Thailog began to thrust faster, and Delilah began to moan,

i"Just like this, but better."/iShe thought,

Thailog picked up the speed more, and Delilah opened her mouth in a silent scream, "Yes…"

"More, my pet?" Thailog asked,

"Yes…"

Thailog began to thrust deeper and faster,

"Yes…"

Thailog went into a frenzy, moving with wild abandon,

Suddenly, Delilah's sex clenched down on his member, and her eyes flashed bright red,

"ANNNGELLLL!!!!" she roared, as her orgasm racked her body. She lay frozen for a moment, then fell back on the mattress. She fell out of her fantasy and looked up to see the eyes she was looking into were not the light blue she had been imagining, but a bright, evil, red.

Thailogs face was contorted in rage, and his eyes quickly began to burn.

"You…whore!!!!" he shouted, as he jumped to his feet and began to rain blows down on the prone female.

Brentwood found her.

He had grown concerned when he didn't find her at her usual place in front of the computer, and had gone looking for her, eventually he was able to follow her scent to this side tunnel.

Delilah was still laying on the mattress; her face was bloodied, her body bruised and slashed...the small clone dashed to Delilah's side,

"Delilah?!?"

The female clone didn't respond,

Brentwood nudged her, again no response…

"H-h-HELP!!!" the clone shouted, "HELP ME!!!"

Maggie heard the clones cries distantly, and went running to find their source, with Malibu and Claw close behind her, she arrived in time to see Brentwood shredding Delilah's purple outfit to bandage her wounds.

"What happened?"

"She still breathing!' Brentwood excitedly shouted,

Maggie got down on her knees and checked Delilah's vitals; i"Strong, thank god."/i she carefully inspected her friend, and found no signs of broken bones,

"Alright, Claw, Malibu, pick her up, icarefully/i, and get her to her room. Lay her on the bed, ok?"

The two nodded, then gently lifted Delilah up and carried her away,

Maggie than turned to Brentwood,

"What happened?"

"I don't know!"

"What?"

"Found her like that…but..." the clone sniffed the air, "I smell Master Thailog."

Maggie's eyes widened, and she too carefully sniffed the air; there was something in the air, a harsh chemical smell mixed with the scent of wood.

"Oh god…your right. That's has to be him…why the HELL didn't I see this?"

Maggie desperately wondered how long that monster had been taking advantage of Delilah right under her nose…

Maggie shook; there would be time for those though later, right now she had to l help Delilah any way she could.

The surface, somewhere on Manhattan Island,

Elisa Maza was in a good mood. Despite one or two bad bits of news, one overwhelming truth stuck with her; Her friends were safe. The Quarrymen were gone, and here friends were safe. The only thing keeping her form being totally ecstatic was the memory of the conversation she'd just had with Captain Chavez…

Her cell phone began to ring.

"Detective Maza…"

"Elisa? Its Derek…"

An hour later, Elisa was headed full speed down one the corridors in the Labyrinth, her good mood long forgotten.

She slowed when she came to the right side corridor, quickly turned, elbowed her way through a crowd of labyrinth dwellers and gently pushed open the door that led to Delilah's room. She was laying on the bed, her caramel skin covered in blood stained bandages, and Maggie was sitting next to her, looking more than a little worried/terrified…

"Delilah?" Elisa quietly asked,

"Elisa?" Delilah actually seemed to brighten at the sound of Elisa's voice,

"Yeah, its me kiddo." Elisa walked over and crouched next to Delilah, "How are you holding up?"

"Ok."

Elisa managed a smile,

"That's good…" Elisa was fighting back tears, "Look…I heard your clothes got…damaged. So I brought some of mine, if you want to try them on…"

"That would be nice…" Delilah whispered,

Elisa nodded and un-slung a small back pack she had been wearing,

"Can I see?"

"Sure." Elisa began to pull out the few items of clothing she had thrown into the bag, and Delilah carefully looked over each one as they came out of the pack,

"I…I know their nothing fancy…"

"Its ok…" Delilah whispered, before finally bursting into tears,

Instinctively Elisa reached out and folded Delilah in her arms. As he sat there comforting her friend, she began to wonder just who had done this…

Thailog crouched on the peeling tar paper roofing of an abandoned looking office building he had alighted on and peered across the wide ribbons of asphalt below, intently watching the long, one-story building on the other side of the highway. He was way out in unfamiliar territory; the inner recesses of Manhattan he liked to frequent were miles away across the Hudson river, and he was now deep in the 'wilds' of northern New Jersey

He squinted his red eyes and scanned the buildings parking lot, spotted a long row of chromed out Harley Davidson's arrayed near the buildings doors, and knew that this had to be the right place.

He briefly wondered on the best way to approach, and finally decided the most brazen would be best. Spreading his wings, he leapt off the office buildings roof, falling nearly to the ground before he caught a sudden updraft and glided across the highway.

He came to a smooth landing in front of the double doors of the clubs front doors, but before he could make another move, he felt the cold steel of a gun barrel rammed against the back of his neck.

"Fuck do iyou/i want Biggie?" a gruff voice demanded; not from behind him, but from some where ahead and to the right, in the shadows,

"I…" Thailog began, as he thought of the best way to deal with gunman behind him before turning on the speaker out in the shadows.

"Waitaminit." a scrawny biker wearing Vikingz colors strode out of the shadows,

"You aren't the big one…who the hell are you?" the biker looked honestly perplexed.

Thailog laughed,

"I see you've met my 'father'." Thailog drew himself with pride, "My name is Thailog…and you'll find I'm a vast improvement over the original."

The biker squinted suspiciously, raised an eyebrow, then brought a small radio to his mouth,

"Hey chief!"

There was a long pause, before finally a rough voice demanded,

"What is it?"

"We got the big purple guys evil twin out here, want us too dust him or send him inside?"

"You have iwho/i?"

"That big purple gargoyles evil twin."

Another long pause

"This place gets weirder by the minute…fine, send him in."

Thailog felt the pressure on his neck ease as the gun was withdrawn, and then the Viking in front of him stepped closer,

"Spread your legs and put your hands behind your head…"

"What?"

"Gotta search you, dude."

Thailog loomed over the scrawny biker,

"I think not."

The cold metal of the gun barrel returned,

"I think so…" growled a voice from behind him, and the speaker dug the barrel of the pistol into Thailogs neck a bit too emphasis the point.

"Very well…if you insist…" Thailog acquiesced, but he began to slowly slide his tail backwards, looking to snag one of the biker's legs and send him sprawling. The tails quest was cut short however, when the biker suddenly brought one of his boots crashing down on the tip, "Knock it the fuck off." the gunman commanded.

Thailog growled and bit down on his lower lip, refusing to show any sign of the pain that shot up form his sensitive tail tip. The scrawny biker quickly patted the clone down, coming up with a small laser pistol and a pair of stainless steel combat knives concealed under Thailogs wrist guards.

After he was satisfied that he had all of the clones weapons, the biker opened one of the strip clubs doors and motioned Thailog inside,

"Back booth."

Keeping a wary eye on the biker, Thailog slipped inside, and immediately had his eardrums blasted by the thumping bass of the music being blared over the clubs speaker systems, flinching at the sonic attack and doing his best to ignore the human women who were prancing about in various states if undress, Thailog worked his way towards the back of the club, wondering why it seemed to be so empty; except for the strippers, bartender and a few Vikingz members, the place had only a few customers. The possibility of causing a panic was vaguely worrying to Thailog, but it seemed the meager clientele was much more interested in drooling over the topless blond in knee high boots on the clubs center stage then sparing a glance at the new arrival.

Eventually Thailog spotted what had to be the back booth he'd been directed too; it was even darker then the rest of the dim strip club, and he could just make out a figure sitting near the back of it. As the clone drew closer, the shadowy form raised a hand to stop him,

"Gimme a sec here…" the stranger commanded, and Thailog recognized the rough voice he'd heard over the biker's radio.

Thailog paused, and then he heard a long, contented sigh drift from the dark booth, the clone was confused for a moment , until he saw the gargoyle reach under the table and haul a bare breasted stripper up off his crotch,

"Thanks a lot." Angel said, before sliding a twenty dollar bill down the brunettes g-string and pushing the dancer back towards the main club. The brunette wiped a bit of milky liquid off her mouth and hurried away, being careful not to get anywhere near the huge clone as she did so.

"Ok, step into my office," Angel said, waving his arm at the other side of the booth. As Thailog slid into the over stuffed polyester seat, he heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper being pulled up from the other side of the table.

"You want something to drink, dude?" Angel asked as he motioned for one of the

clubs waitresses to come over.

"No, thank you." Thailog answered,

"Suit yourself…" Angel said, as a stunning Asian waitress sashayed up to the booth, "Lets see…" Angel began, shamelessly ogling the woman's bare breasts, "Shot 'a Jack and a Miller Light, alright?"

The woman nodded, nervously glancing at the dark skinned clone sitting across form the biker captain, and Angel slid her a pair of twenty dollar bills,

"Keep the change."

The waitress looked surprised, then smiled and winked as she went to get the outlaw leaders drinks.

Thailog raised a brow ridge,

"Something of a big spender, aren't you?"  
Angel shrugged,

"Fuck it. I can always go out and steal some more…"

iPromising/i Thailog thought, as he sized up Angel, with the outlaw returning the favor as he intently scrutinized the clone across from him.

"So I'm gonna ask the obvious questions here, dude…why the hell do you look like that Goliath guy…" Angel leaned forward and pushed the dark sunglasses he was wearing up over his brow ridges and squinted his light blue eyes at Thailog, "And why the fuck are you wearing a suit of armor that's brighter than the chrome on my chopper?"

Thailog chuckled darkly,

"I'm a clone made from the gargoyle Goliaths DNA and the thought patterns and personality of David Xanatos."

Angel blinked hard, dropped his sunglasses back over his eyes and leaned back in the booth,

"Kay. Well I gave up tryin' to understand this fuckin' place a long time ago…that leaves us with the question of why you look like a hood ornament."

Thailogs cocky smile fell away.

"I…*ahem*…yes…well."

Angel laughed and shook his head,

"Alright man, you think about that one…" the waitress returned with Angel's drinks,

"And get back to me."

Angel pounded the shot and set the glass back on the waitresses serving tray.

Thailog waited for the half naked server to leave before speaking again,

"Word of your presence in the city has recently reached my ears…" Thailog managed to control his voice, but his anger flared again as he remembered ihis/i mate gasping this…ibrute's/i name, "And I wanted to see whether or not we could do some business."

"Sure, no problem." Angel said, in an amicable mood after his under the table head job and the shot of Jack Daniels, "But first your gonna have to answer me this one last question…why the fuck haven't I met you before?"

"What?"

Angel leaned forward in the booth again,  
"Simple question. I thought I'd run into all the gargs in this city and you obviously aren't working with any of 'em, or you'd be trying to kill me. All that begs the question…"

"Ah" iI suppose this one isn't a complete idiot/i Thailog thought, as his mind raced to think of the best course of action, and in a rare move decided on the truth, or something slightly close to it, "I was created by Xanatos, but found the idea of a life in service to him to be somewhat…disagreeable. I escaped as soon as the opportune moment presented itself, and I've been looking out for myself and my interests ever since."

Angel remained expressionless, his dark sunglasses keeping his eyes from betraying any hint of his feelings.

"Well congrats on not being the rich guy's pet muscle, I guess." Angel finally judged, although his voice was neutral; conveying neither approval, scorn, nor disbelief, "So what have you been up to since then?"

Thailog smirked,

"Quite frankly, that's my business and not yours." Thailog mustered a slight amount of menace in his voice, which Angel predictably bristled against.

"iQuite frankly it is/i." Angel growled, "You came to me looking to do business, asshole. I don't do business with creepy looking fucks that try and hide shit from me."

"Fine. I've spent the last few years amassing a very large fortune using means that are somewhat less than legal."

"Uh-huh. Piss anybody off doing that?"

"Just my ex-love."

"Huh. And that would be?"

Thailog smirked,

"Does the name Demona mean anything to you?"

Angel nearly choked on the swig of Miller Lite he'd just downed,

"You nailed ithat/i thing?!?" the biker demanded, in between bouts of coughing, "The hell is iwrong/i with you man?!?"

"Ah. I see you two have met."

"And I got the scars to show it." Angel shook his head, "I'll skip the what the fucks and just ask why the hell she's your 'ex' mate."

"Ah. She was too sentimental for my tastes…"

"Ookay…" Angel found it hard to equate a word like isentimental/i with the screaming hellcat who'd nearly decapitated him on three separate occasions

"I found that her devotion to her spawn was greater than her loyalty to me. That was…unacceptable."

Angel shook his head, "Alright then."

"So I replaced her."

"Replaced her?"

"Yes."

Angel blinked hard and shook his head.

"Good enough. So what business did you have in mind?"

"At this point, nothing, I'm afraid. I came here merely to see if you were interested …and if you were worth it in the first place."

"Right, well, fuck you too buddy."

"Back at you." Thailog said, as he slid out of the booth and headed back towards the front entrance. As soon as the clone disappeared behind the swinging doors, Skagg suddenly seemed to materialize next to Angel's booth.

"So what do you think bro?" Angel asked his second in command.

"Don't like him."

Angel laughed,

"A bit creepy, I'll give you that." Angel cocked his head, "He's cool."

"Huh?"

"Anybody that's got the balls to double cross that red haired psycho has potential, far as I'm concerned."

"Yeah…he seemed to be bullshittin' most of the stuff he told us though."

"Oh well. Doesn't really matter anyway."

"Right…I still think we oughta' check this guy out Pres."

Angel laughed,

"You worry too much."

Skagg shrugged, before walking away from Angel and out of the club to the long line of Harleys parked outside. He casually waved to Gothic and Basky at their guard posts in front before throwing his leg over a candy apple red chopped1988 FXR and pulling on his helmet,

"Just going for a quick scoot." he told the two guards, before bringing his bike roaring too life and taking off down an on ramp and onto the freeway.

A few miles away, he pulled into a gas station parking lot and dismounted his bike near a bank of pay phones. Skagg grabbed a weathered phone book that was attached to a one of them by a length of cable and flipped through it; a few moments later he found the number he was looking for. He paused, looked away, then back at the number, before somewhat hesitantly dropping in the requisite amount of quarters and using a knuckle to dial.

"23rd precinct, state the nature of you call…"

"Yeah, I'm look for a Detective…uhh…Maza…yeah, Detective Maza."

The sergeant manning the precincts desk raised an eyebrow,

"Right, sir, I'll see if she's in." the sergeant checked punched a button and the line switched over to dispatch,  
"Hey Shirley, is Maza around?"

"No, she called in and said she had a family emergency…she should be in later though, why?

"Some guys just called in looking for her, sounds like a snitch."

"Or it might be that mystery man she's been seeing the last couple years…"

"Right. Anyway this guy's on the other line." the Sergeant punched another button on the phone in front of him, quickly ending any further attempts at gossip; as far as he was concerned it really didn't matter if Elisa was dating a guy, gal or one of those 'gargoyle' things the newspapers seemed to be getting such a kick out of lately, she was a good cop.

"Yeah, sorry she's not in right now."

"She got a cell phone or anything I can call?"

"Sorry sir, but I can't give out that information.

"Whatever."

"Can I take a messa…" before the Sergeant could finish the line went dead as Skagg slammed the phone back in the cradle and headed back towards his bike.

The Vikingz Vice President threw on his small 'beanie' helmet and got back on his bike; he was halfway back to the club when he remembered the cell phone in his vest pocket and snarled a curse that was lost to the chilly fall wind that he was riding into. Skagg swung the bike off at the next exit and pulled a small black address book out of one of his Harley's saddlebags.

i'Tell me I saved the fucking thing'/i Skagg thought, as he rifled though the books pages.

Deep under New York, in the bowels of the Labyrinth Elisa was watching carefully for any signs of pain from her 'daughter' as she pulled on the clothes Elisa had given her, to replace the blood stained remnants of her leotard. Delilah was in bad shape, but at least her injuries would disappear by the next night, thank god.

Elisa shook her head in anger; that bastard would pay for this one way or another. Derek had already taken Claw and the clones and gone searching for him, but Elisa was sure Thailog would be long one. But he couldn't hide forever…

And that was when her cell phone began to ring.

Elisa was startled by the sudden loud ringing, and then even more surprised she got a signal down here. Maggie looked up from her seat by Delilah,

"I think we're ok, if you need to take that…"

"No, its not a big deal." Elisa emphatically stated.

Delilah looked up at her 'mother' and managed a weak smile,

"I'm fine Elisa, your call might be important…"

Elisa managed a smile of her own,

"Ok, I'll go see what's up, but I'll be right back, ok?"

Delilah nodded, wincing slightly in pain as she did so.

Elisa ducked out of the clones room and pulled her cell phone out of her jacket,

"Detective Maza."

"Its about time!" the voice on the other end was faint and the signal quality not the best, but Elisa figured out exactly who she was talking too in a second,  
"What do you morons want now?" Elisa demanded, with more exasperation than anger in her voice.

"You know that big purple guy your fuckin' has a twin?"

Elisa froze,

"What?"

"Nasty looking motherfucker with red eyes? Ring a bell?"

"Where is he?" Elisa demanded,

"So you know who I'm talking about…"

"Listen to me very carefully. Your going to tell me everything you know about him, right now, or I am going to track your stupid, beer-swilling, white trash biker ass down and throw you in the deepest cell on Rikers Island."

" What the hell's up your…"

"Talk."

"Fuck you. I ain't given' you shit. What's your problem anyway?"

"My problem is your new friend just beat an innocent girl to within an inch of her life, and I want his head, got me?"

"Wait, what?"  
Elisa growled in frustration,

"Long story. Look I don't know what the hell you think about that bastard, but he is pure ievil/i; if you idiots have cut some kind of deal with him, on your own heads be it."

Elisa thumbed the end button and headed back to help her friend.

Skagg stared at his cell phone for a second, before flipping the ignition switch on his bike and finishing his trip back to the bar. After re-parking his bike, he stormed back into the club, and headed back to the rear booth Angel had been occupying when he left.

The gargoyle was still there, and was mixing a glass of water with some kind of yellowish powder.

Skagg hesitated a second, then walked over to Angel's table and announced;

"That clone thing is fucked, Chief."

Angel chugged down the mixture he had just concocted before asking,

"What?"

"Thailog?"

"Ohhh…what's up?"

"Talked to the pig about him."

"You what?"

"She don't like him, Pres…"

"She doesn't like anyone who doesn't walk the straight and narrow, brother."

"No, she ireally/i doesn't like him. Like maybe he's done something truly fucked up…"

"And? Not like we're saints over here…"

"Chief, she said that this Thailog guy almost beat some chick she knows to death earlier tonight."

Angel's brow ridges furrowed into a scowl,

"She say why?"

"No."

Angel shook his head.

"Think she'd tell us what's going on?"

"Doubt it. She was pissed when I told her about that Thailog guy. Pretty sure she thinks we're workin' with him."

"Not anymore we aren't."

"Huh? Chief like an hour ago you…"

"Yeah, well I always get trusting when I've been drinkin'. Anyway, doesn't matter, all freak show wanted was to check us out."

"Huh?"

Angel shrugged,

"Seems like everyone's interested in knowing who we are around here…I think maybe it's time to leave before we gain any more notoriety."

"Think so?"

"Yeah. I do."

"Cool."

Back in the labyrinth Elisa was half-listening to Talon sadly reporting that the patrols hadn't had any luck finding Thailog.

"We'll get him, sooner or later." Talon finished,

"I hope so."

"Yeah…I have no idea where to start looking, but we'll find him, somehow."

Elisa absentmindedly put a hand in her jacket pocket and touched her cell phone.

"I think I might."

"Huh?"

"I got a call form one of the Vikingz while you were out. Thailog's been in some kind of contact with them."

"What?"

"'Nasty looking motherfucker with red eyes' was how they put it."

Talon shook his head and laughed a bit, but Elisa was silent, as she thought about that iother/i comment the biker had made, concerning her closest held secret…and how wonderful it was for that secret to be common

knowledge to an ioutlaw motorcycle gang/i.

As if waiting for a signal, a seven foot tall lavender behemoth swept into the small hallway outside Delilah's room.

"I'm sorry, I came as soon as I heard…is the clone…I mean is Delilah well?"

Talon looked at Elisa, who nodded,

"As well as can be, Big Guy. She should be better tomorrow night."

Goliath breathed a sigh of relief,

"Good…is there any news of my…'son'?"

Talon shook his head,

"No. He got away clean a long time before we even started looking."

Goliath sighed deeply,

"I suppose it was too much too hope…" Goliath shrugged, "I should speak with Delilah." he announced, and walked towards the closed door that led to the small room Delilah called her own.

"No." Elisa abruptly commanded, and set a restraining hand on Goliaths chest,

Goliath was taken aback,

"Why not?"

Elisa looked up at him sadly,

"Goliath, she was almost killed by a guy that looks, sounds, and even ismells/i just like you. I really don't think it's a good idea for you to be around her right now."

Goliath opened his mouth to protest, then quickly shut it.

"I suppose…you are right."

"I'm sorry…"

"You have nothing to be sorry for, my Elisa. All you did was speak the truth."

Elisa smiled, and the three fell into an awkward silence.

"Walk with me, Big Guy?" Elisa suddenly asked.

"Of course." Goliath said, slightly confused. He followed his lover down the hall and up a concrete stair case that led to one of the Labyrinths surface entrances.

After sliding open the heavy steel door at the top of the stairs, Elisa sent a quick look around and made sure the abandoned warehouse it led to was empty.

Elisa motioned to Goliath to come out,

"Sorry Big Guy, but I needed some fresh air…" Elisa inhaled deeply and got the full bouquet of urban decay from the rotting warehouse, "or at least fresh-ish. It feels like I've been locked up down there forever."

"I understand how you feel…it's never easy to see a friend in pain."

"No, it's not." Elisa sighed, "I'm tired Goliath."

"Than maybe you should go back to your apartment, and get some rest."

"Not what I meant big guy."

"What idid/i you mean then?"

"Goliath I've been able to handle everything that's been thrown at me for the last four years; Xanatos, my brother's mutation, Demona, Avalon…" Elisa shook her head, "But lately, I've been thinking, I could really do with a break. I'm taking some time off to…think."

Goliath nodded,

"I see…and what…what will you be doing?"

"Well first off, I've been thinking that we need to finish that date the Quarrymen spoiled last year." Elisa announced, with a coquettish smile.

Goliath laughed in surprise,

"I was worried you might be thinking about…us."

It was Elisa turn to let out a surprise laugh,

"I did all the thinking about us I needed to along time ago." Elisa said, as she reached up to kiss her gigantic mate.

Finally, after holding Goliaths lips for a long minute, she broke away,

"Saturday good for you?"

"Of course, my Elisa."

Two days later, at the Vikingz strip club;

Thailog swaggered through the front doors and entered the club just as he had done earlier, and was immediately greeted by the foul smell of stale tobacco and human sweat mixed together. He didn't care though; his mood was far too good to be spoiled by the stench of a third rate human burlesque parlor.

After two days of careful preparation, he had crafted the perfect plan to dispose of his unintentional rival and his gang of scum; an ambush manned by the finest mercenaries he could buy awaited the bikers at the site of the notional 'deal' he was about to lure them too. All it would take to bring his plan to fruition was a little bit of smooth talking on his part…if he could find anyone to smooth talk that is. The club was noticeably lacking in Vikingz; their were only three members hanging around, a hulking Latino, a pale skinned biker with shoulder length white hair, both sitting at the bar and Angel, seated in the same booth he'd been in the night before. Thailog waited at the door for a repeat of the careful search he'd received the night before, but the Latino looked up from his beer and waved a hand vaguely at the interior of the club,

"Its cool imano/i, come on in…"

Thailog shrugged and headed to the back booth where Angel was sitting. As the clone approached, he noticed that Angel was dividing up two heavy lines of white powder on the table top using a wicked-looking trench knife. The biker quickly snorted one of the lines, but left the other untouched.

"You do coke?" Angel suddenly asked, as he laid his crazed blue eyes on Thailog.

"What?"

"Cocaine. Do you do fuckin' cocaine?"

"I…"

"No? What, you think you're better than me now freak show?"

"I didn't say that…"

"Bullshit! You don't wanna do business with me 'cuz I like to party freak show? Well you can fuck off!"

Thailog growled in frustration at the drugged-up paranoid psychotic he was being forced to deal with,

"Enough!" Thailog sat down heavily next too the heavy line of cocaine, leaned over it, and snorted as much as he could. It was all he could think of doing to calm the lunatic down; do the coke and hope for the best, "Alright?" he demanded, as he leaned back and felt the drugs course through his system.

Angel nodded approval, "Ok man…hope you can handle it…"

"Of course I can handle this…co..coca…cocaine?"

Angel grinned "Having some trouble?"

Thailog suddenly felt dizzy, he shook his head to clear it, but that only made the room start spinning,

Angel leaned across the table and grinned, seemingly completely in control of himself; that didn't seem right to Thailog, but he couldn't remember why…

"So what about this deal?" Angel asked.

It took Thailog a moment to make sense out of Angels words,

"Oh yes…deal. C'mon." Thailog slid out of the booth and took a moment to orient himself before moving on towards the door. He took a step…then fell. He landed on his back, and had just enough time to wonder why he was looking at the ceiling before everything went dark.

Somewhere in the New Jersey Pine Barrens, Two hours later-

"…wake up, dude."

Thailog heard the voice distantly,

"Wakey-Wakey, freak show."

Things were slightly more clear now…

Suddenly a new voice erupted,

"WAKE UP iPUNETA/i!!"

This time the voice came with a sharp jolt of pain in his side, and Thailog awoke

fully, trying to lash out at whoever had just kicked him. He quickly found that his system was still sluggish and disordered by whatever he'd been dosed however.

He was able to open his eyes though, and what he saw didn't encourage him.

Thailog was laying in a small clearing surrounded by thick forestry, and he was encircled by Angel and the two other Vikingz from the strip club. The huge Latino was glaring down at him, seemingly seconds away from snapping the clones neck, while the pale skinned biker was hanging back in the shadows. Angel however, was crouching right next to his head. Thailog silently watched as Angel nonchalantly lit up a cigarette and blew out a puff of acrid tobacco smoke.

"Okay dude, here's the score." Angel began, before taking another drag on the cigarette, "I dosed your ass with some sort of CIA psyche out drug. Friend of mine learned how to make it 'Nam from some spook in the Phoenix Program…anyway, effects are temporary, yadda, yadda, yadda, so you should be fine in a day or two. Well, sooner when you count in the whole stone naptime thing."

Thailog tried to say something, but found he couldn't…quite remember...how…

"Anyway, we decided not to have anything to do with your sorry ass, in case you hadn't figured that out. Why? Because we got a little more of your rep from a friend of ours, and someone else told us about how bad you beat that Delilah chick."

Thailog tried to protest, but still couldn't speak…

"Personally, that type of shit doesn't sit well, and there's no way in hell I'd ever put up with it if I knew one of my guys was doing it, but y'know…if I was an unabashed champion of the gentler sex, I'd be in the wrong line of work."

The pale skinned Viking laughed, but the Latino maintained his stony silence, and continued to glower,

"But the other stuff…man, you are one sneaky little shit. I shoulda' figured that on my own, but…oh well. Anyway, what it all comes down too is the fact that iyour/i a scheming prick that hatches intricate little plots involving stabbing people in the back when they least expect it, and iI'm/i a guy who makes a bit of cash here and there pulling smash and grabs and the like to pay for gas and have a good time." Angel took another drag on his smoke, "So what we have is a fundamental divergence of business practice here. I think it might be best if we avoid each other." Angel stood up and stretched,

"But…" Thailog finally remembered how too speak "Why did you idrug/i me then?"

"Oh. What you did might not piss me off enough to kick your ass on sight, but Jesses here really don't like guys that beat on women."

The big Latino grinned and drove his heavy motorcycle boot into Thailog side again, "Fucking pussy." he growled

"So anyway, I talked him out of killing you, but…we're still gonna have to kick your ass." Angel looked over at Jesse, "Anytime your ready…"

"Have your fun, scum." Thailog growled, "If you weaklings hadn't drugged me, I'd send you all to your graves."

"Of course you would dumbass, why the hell do you think we drugged you?"

"'Sides." Jesse said, as he leaned over and looked Thailog in the eyes, "It'll be interesting for you to be helpless while someone knocks the shit out you, instead of the other way 'round, huh?"

With that, the three bikers laid into the drugged clone with fists, boots, and anger.

Ten minutes later, Thailog was till conscious, somehow, and the three bikers were casually walking out of the clearing. Thailog could barely make them out form eyes that were swollen almost completely shut, but he was watching them leave with a mixture of hatred and relief. Just before he disappeared into the thick underbrush, the pale biker turned around,

"Give my regards to the Jersey Devil, if you see him."

And then he turned and left, leaving the bruised and bloodied gargoyle alone with his pain and anger.


	19. Chapter 19

Sergey Arachenko was tired of the damn screaming.

The guilt he could drown with booze. The fucking memories he could stick in some deep, dark pit in his mind and never have to remember them again. But the i_screams!/i_ They never went away. Even when he was awake, he could hear the screams of those fucking mujah brats. He didn't worry about them driving him mad; the war had done that long before, but it was so…i_annoying/i_.

He'd thought about suicide, but was still too much of a damned coward to end his own life. He'd tried his best to get killed, but the mujah's could never kill i_him/i._ Oh fuck no, the bastards couldn't kill Sergey Arachenko, but they could kill his i_Spetnatz Tovarisch/I;,_ who'd been with him, who'd heard the screaming too, had emptied their '74's into that mass of humanity right alongside him, hell, they could even kill the damn Hind jockeys who'd joined in the fun, the lucky packs of bastards, but they could never kill i_him/i._

The damn Afghanis couldn't kill him.

The fucking idiot Georgian rebels couldn't do it.

Those pathetic idiots who'd tried to stop his BMP from shelling the Kremlin during the coup against the bunch of fools who thought they could smash the Soviet Union and magically sprout into some corrupt western-style democracy.

The fucking black-asses in Chechnya could do their best with that fucking mass of hardware they'd stolen, but they could never quite get it right.

Eventually he'd given up on the incompetents his country sent him out to be killed by and went searching for some of his own. This explained why he was currently sitting in the cupola of an antique BTR-60, watching a band of Serbian paramilitary's burn down the Bosnian…or was it Kurdish? Or Albanian? It was hard to remember, in this fucking lunatic war he was stuck in.

"How much longer should we let these fucking monkeys amuse themselves comrade colonel?"

"Patience Kulokov." Sergey turned to look at his fellow mercenary, who was perched on the side of the armored personnel carrier with a PK light machine gun cradled in his lap.

"You could go over and join those fools."

"Why? So I can run away with a rusty tea-set and the clap from raping some Muslim i_babushka/i_? I get paid to fight colonel, not act like some barbarian."

Before Sergey could respond, the radio in his tankers helmet crackled,

"i_Kulak/i_-1, report to the command post in the center of town."

Sergey winced when he heard that,

_i"That's right, you morons, why don't you just hang out a sign? If anyone hears that, we'll have Yankee attack helicopters up our asses in minutes!"/i_ he thought. While he was convinced he wanted to die, he damn sure didn't want it to be for some half-wit butchers incompetent radio security.

Sergey grabbed his AK-74 and stalked down the dirt road into the burning town.

Ignoring the screams and gun shots that echoed through the narrow streets, he stormed into the half-destroyed mosque that served as headquarters for the paramilitaries.

Sergey brushed past the three sentries at the door, and found most of the paramilitaries' leadership arrayed around a map tacked on one of the still standing walls.

_iThe rest most be too drunk on looted vodka to show up/i_, the Russian mercenary thought.

"Ah, Sergey. Now we can begin!" announced the fat slob who was nominally in charge of both the paramilitaries and Sergey's Russian mercenaries.

"Gentlemen, this is the third village we've hit this month, and I've noticed a trend…"

_i"You've killed, raped and looted you psychotic asses off in every one of those villages?"/_ Sergey thought.

"…the refugees from each village always move in the same direction."

_i"The hell away from you?"/i_

The slob stabbed a pudgy finger unto the map.

"They move here; the Black Mountains!"

A few of the paramilitaries began crossing themselves and Sergey did his best not to laugh at them. If there was a god, he sure as hell wouldn't give his protection to this lot.

"What the fuck are the Black Mountains?" Sergey asked,

"Cursed. Cursed and haunted!" one of the paramilitaries shouted.

Sergey rolled his eyes.

"The Black Mountains are a few small forested peaks south of here; they're uninhabited, but that has more to do with their isolated location then anything supernatural." the fat slob smugly explained.

Sergey shrugged,

"And when are we heading towards them, sir?"

"Soon. There are two more villages down the road that need our attention first though."

"Right." Sergey turned and left the mosque, stopping outside the doors to light a cigarette. He looked up at the smashed remains of the minaret and thought;

"_So it must be Bosnians we're killing today after all."_

Then he walked back down the road to his tank, with the screams echoing in his mind.

"Oh come on Frank!!" Special Agent in Charge William Queen shouted into the phone, "What the hell do you mean 'unauthorized'? Last time I checked, I was very much authorized to protect the people of the United States from harm. And a bunch of lunatics with an arsenal of stolen military-grade weapons really seems to fall under the category of 'harm'!"

"Jesus, Will, I'm just the messenger here! Look, the brass are pissed you undertook an operation like this without getting their approval, ok?"

"And how long would that have taken? Six months? A year? In the meantime the Quarrymen would have been blasting holes in this city with TOW missiles and LAW rockets every time they thought they saw a 'gargoyle'!"

"Will come on, the NYPD would have…"

"Half the NYPD were iin/i the Quarrymen! Hell, I busted five cops when I raided Quarrymen headquarters!"

"You did iwhat/i?"

"They made their choice Frank."

"And? You probably just fried any good relationships we had with the largest police force in the country!"

"Oh come on!"

"Will, what do you want me to do? Huh?"

"I want you and your buddies to pull your head out of your asses and realize I was only doing my job!"

"Will, this is going to happen, not matter how much you kick and scream, so just go with it ok? It's just a two-month paid vacation while we pretend to reprimand you. It's not a big deal, alright?"

"Right. It's a two month paid vacation while you decide whether or not fire me is what it is Frank."

Frank sighed loud enough for Queen to hear it over the phone,

"Look Will, I'm gonna level with you here; those Quarrymen had some friends in real high places, and those friends are not happy with you, ok?"

Queen leaned back in his chair and narrowed his eyes,

"Political connections?"

"Umm…something like that. Let's just say you pissed off some real powerful people."

Queen grunted in acknowledgment, deep in thought.

"What's up Will?"

"I dunno Frank…it's just that it was a bitch for me to get the warrant's to search the Quarrymen's offices; its becoming an even bigger problem to get the charges I want laid against them."

"Uh-huh. And that should have told you something right there."

"Probably. In the end it's whatever it is Frank. We got those weapons off the street, and that's all that matters to me." Queen dropped the phone back in the cradle and stood up.

The ATF agent casually took his jacket off a coat rack by the door of his office, and then walked out.

"Hey boss, they bust your ass too?" asked another ATF agent when he saw Queen leaving so early,

"Yeah, Dobbs. Apparently it's not alright to do our jobs without permission."

The other Agent grinned,

"So it would seem. Can't have us smashing down on the well-connected white folks' private hate groups, huh?"

"'Hate Groups'? Last time I checked you needed something real to hate…"

"Still don't believe in gargoyles boss?" the Agent Asked, as they both stepped into the elevator that would take them to the Federal Buildings underground garage.

"Yeah, I'll believe it when I see it." Queen smiled, "How's the People for Inter-whatever thing going for you anyway, Dobbs?"

Dobbs laughed,

"It's People for Interspecies Tolerance, boss man. And the Quarrymen haven't tried to break up any of our meeting's since the first one I went too…"

Queen laughed; the whole office knew the story behind the first P.I.T. meeting Dobbs had attended: three Quarrymen had shown up, waving their quarry-hammers and shouting threats, only to have Dobbs' USP stuffed in their faces along with a stern warning to wait outside for the police, which they did, until the meeting was over and Dobbs bothered to arrest them formally.

Dobbs grinned, "Not that I'll have to worry about them for awhile now though, right?"

"Exactly."

The elevator doors slid shut, and the two agents departed their ATF offices for what

could be the last time.

Elisa hummed quietly to herself as she made final preparations for Goliaths visit. The wine was breathing, the pasta was boiling…things were perfect. And thanks to the feds, there would be no black helicopters sweeping down from the sky to disgorge groups of heavily armed bigots to try and slay her or her lover…speaking of which…

Elisa looked up and saw a dark shape glide towards her balcony from the night sky, until it eventually resolved into a lavender hued behemoth that gently alighted mere feet from the small detective. Goliath immediately enfolded Elisa in his wings,

"My Elisa…you look…" Goliath swept his dark eyes over his human love; she was wearing a long, flowing, black dress, with a slit that ran from the hem to just below her thigh and was held in place only by a thin pair of spaghetti straps that ran over her caramel shoulders, "Beautiful."

Elisa smiled,

"And I suppose I just look 'pretty' normally."

"My Elisa I did not mean…that is…"

Elisa laughed,

"Just kidding big guy…"

Goliath raised a brow ridge,

"I did not find that funny."

Elisa smiled, before standing on her toes to deliver a quick kiss to Goliath's lips,

"Sorry…" she smiled, then an icy cold wind blew across the rooftop, and she shivered, "Lets get inside, huh?" she asked, sliding open the glass door to her apartment and stepping inside. Goliath paused for a few moments; as if to show that a mere cold north wind didn't bother him in the least, and then followed her inside. Immediately, he was struck by the scent of whatever Elisa was cooking for dinner, and his nostrils flared in anticipation,

"What's for dinner?" he rumbled,

Elisa laughed,

"Shrimp Fettuccini, why, you hungry?"

"It smells delicious…and yes, I am."

Elisa waved Goliath into her small kitchen while she fiddled with her CD player,

"There should be something in fridge, if you want a snack…" Elisa absentmindedly announced, as she hit the play button and listened to the soft jazz that began to emanate form the player's speakers for a moments. Satisfied with her choice of music, she picked up the remote to turn off the TV, but stopped when she saw a weather forecast being played on the news,

"…severe winter storms have unexpectedly formed over most of the North-Eastern United States, heavy snows and ice storms are expected…"

"Blah." Elisa disgustedly remarked, before shutting the TV off and heading towards the kitchen.

A beer bottle sailed over a long, mahogany bar and smashed the flickering screen of the wall-mounted television that had been mounted over it.

"FUCK!"

Skagg quickly turned and demanded,

"Chief what that hell?"

"Didn't you fuckin' hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Just look at…." Angel pointed at the smoking remnants of the TV, then sighed angrily, "Goddammit…anyway, this whole istate/i is about to get fuckin' slammed in with snow, man."

"What?!? It's only early November!"

"Fuckin' East Coast weather brothers." drawled Tramp as the hairy outlaw walked over to his two fellow Vikingz.

"Right. Very colorful and surfer-guy of you to say that, bro, but we'd still be royally fucked if we were in the middle of good ol' SoCal." Angel ran a hand through his shoulder length black hair, "I just wish we iwere/i anywhere else but here! Of all the places to get stuck…"

"Chief, c'mon, we just sit this storm out and then get on down the road…no biggie, right?" Tramp offered as he slid unto a bar stool next to his president.

"Tramp, have you ever been to New York in winter before?" demanded Gothic, as he listened in from across the bar, "When the snow and cold starts up it doesn't let up until spring."

"Well than what the hell are we supposed to do?"

Angel shook his head, looked pleadingly at the cracked, stained ceiling of the tavern, and, when no divine help was forthcoming, turned to the ten other Vikingz in the bar,

"For now, it looks like we're gonna have to hole up here, hopefully only until the storm dies out and the roads are clear…whenever that is."

Shaking his head again, Angel looked past a few terrified looking bar patrons and out the bars large front window at the line of soon to be useless chopped Harley-Davidsons lined up outside.

i"I wonder what god-awful bizarre mess is gonna come down on us before we get the chance to ride on outta here."/i he thought.

"So, what do ya wanna to do now chief?" Tramp asked.

"Find another bar?"

Hours later, back at Elisa's apartment, Goliath was carefully winding a mass of fettuccini noodles around his fork,  
"Elisa, this meal is…exquisite!"

"Glad you approve." Elisa dryly responded as she watched her lover demolish his second plate of shrimp and pasta for the night. She took a sip of her wine and laughed, "What I wouldn't do for your metabolism, big guy."

"You could always try and get Puck to turn you back into a gargoyle, my love."

Elisa cocked an eyebrow,

"Yeaahhhh…right. I'll keep it in mind."

Goliath chuckled, and then downed the last forkful of pasta off his plate.

"More?" Elisa asked,

"No, thank you. I am quite satisfied, my Elisa." Goliath said, as he stood up and began to clear plates and dishes from the table

Elisa smiled; Goliath had insisted on clearing the table as soon as he learned to use a dishwashing machine. And while Elisa was grateful her lover's politeness, she couldn't shake the feeling that the medieval gargoyle just wanted to see the fascinating 'sorcery' of the machine at work…

Oh well.

She slide out of her seat and walked over to the CD player, turned up the volume slightly and leaned on the couch while she waited for Goliath to finish.

A few minutes later, the leviathan gargoyle walked back out into Elisa's living room.

"Care for a dance?" Elisa asked, as the room filled with the sounds of a soft jazz tune,

"Or does the poor baby need some time for dinner to settle?" she asked, jokingly.

Goliath smiled, walked across the room, and took Elisa in his arms.

"You'll have to excuse me, Elisa…it's been a long while since…" Goliaths face grew somber for a moment, and she knew who he was thinking about.

She brushed the side of his face, bringing him back to the present,

"If you'd rather not…"

"No Elisa, it is nothing…but you will have to lead, I'm afraid."

The raven haired detective laughed out loud,  
"I'll try and keep things slow then, alright?"

Elisa circled her arms around Goliaths waist, and he did the same to her, and the two began to gently sway back and forth to the music.

Elisa leaned forward, resting her head on Goliaths chest, and the massive gargoyle reached a hand up and began to run his talons through her hair.

Elisa let out a slight chuckle of satisfaction as she nuzzled into her huge lovers chest.

"You know Goliath…"

"Yes Elisa?"

"I've spent the last few years of my life facing off with evil billionaires, cybernetic mercenaries, immortal, mass-murdering psychotic gargoyles, run of the mill mobsters,

sorcerers, and all-powerful fey overlords…"

Goliath stopped moving and looked down at Elisa, who was still snuggled into his chest,

"Yes, my Elisa?"

"And all of it because I met you."

"I…I am sorry my Elisa."

Elisa looked up at Goliath,

"But I'd live through all of that again, just so I could be here with you."

She began to bring her lips to Goliaths, and the massive gargoyle returned the gesture.

And that's when the loud rapping came from Elisa's window.

Letting out an audible growl of frustration, Elisa broke away and stormed towards the glass portal, with an equally perturbed Goliath right behind her.

Elisa swung the door to the roof open…and found Maggie standing in a driving snow with her head bowed down. She looked up at the surprised lovers and smiled slightly,

"I'm sorry to interrupt." she whispered, "But we have a problem back at the labyrinth." the blood stained bandages that swathed the mutates shoulder bore mute testimony that there was, indeed, a very big problem somewhere.

"What's wrong?" Goliath asked.

"We uh…well it's easier for Derek to explain, he was there when it happened. He sent me to find Elisa…I didn't know you two were…having a date."

"Wait Maggie, when what happened? And where did you get that bandage?" Elisa demanded,

Maggie shrugged,

"It would appear that this Angel person doesn't like to be locked up. Not that I blame him."

"Wha…wait who?!?"

Goliath sent Elisa a quick glance, then turned to Maggie

"I think we should go see for ourselves what is going on…"

Elisa turned and dashed towards her room,

"Let me just get a jacket!" she shouted over her shoulder.

Ten minutes later, they were walking through the massive steel doored main entrance to the Labyrinth. Talon waited just inside, leaning on a makeshift crutch made out of a piece of drain pipe, and peering out from under a bandage that was wrapped around his head.

"Hey Sis. Hope Maggie didn't interrupt anything to mushy." the mutate announced when he saw the dress Elisa was still wearing under her red bomber jacket, "I would have come myself, but I keep blacking out every once in awhile…"

Elisa looked aghast,

"Derek, what the hell ihappenedi to you?"

"Me? Oh not much…got cracked in the back of the head a few times with a pistol butt. Oh, and I think my leg's broken."

"And why, precisely, did you find a need to apprehend the heavily armed psychotic outlaw tonight?"

Talon shrugged, but then winced in pain,

"Sorry, he got me in the shoulder with that chain, too. But anyway, Burbank, Hollywood, and I were on patrol when we spotted biker boy about to curb some guy in front of a bar. We interceded, he fought back. I got back up, he took off running. Three blocks and a lot of fence jumping later, we cornered him. That's when I got these." Talon pointed to his leg and then the bandages around his head.

Goliath cocked his head,

"What is…curbing?"

Elisa shook her head,

"You put someone's teeth on a curb, or any hard stone type of wall; then you stomp on the back of their head." She shivered

Goliaths mouth fell open. He'd thought the dark ages had been brutal…

"Is he in the cells?" Elisa asked her wounded brother.

"Yeah. He nearly took Maggie's arm off when we were trying to put him in there."

Elisa detected a very sharp current of anger in her brother's tone when he mentioned the injuries his new charge had inflicted on Maggie. No time to think of what that might mean now, though.

"Mind if we take a look?" Elisa asked her brother, even though she was already headed off in the direction of the Labyrinths cell block.

"Come on man, you almost got it!" Fang was shouting when the group of humans, mutates and gargoyles turned the corner. The mountain lion mutate turned his head when he heard them coming, and quickly shouted

"Cheese it! Here comes the goodie-goodies!"

"Who gives a fuck?" came the gruff answer from further down the hall.

When they got closer, they saw that Angel had both hands jammed through the bars of his cell door and was trying to pick the lock with a pair of metal slivers.

"Hey Talon! Come to let me off for good behavior?" Fang asked, smiling mock-sweetly at the panther mutate.

Talon ignored Fangs bored attempts at being a smart ass and walked directly to Angel's cell door. The biker chieftain continued his attempts to pick the lock, seemingly oblivious to the fact that his jailor was watching him.

"I'm standing right here, you know." Talon eventually pointed out, breaking the silence.

"Yep."

"You know I can see what your doing, right?"

"Yeah. I'm ignoring you."

Talon sighed, pointed a hand at Angels lock picking effort, and dispatched a quick bolt of electricity into the bikers talons.

Angel swore and dropped his lock picks. The biker sent an annoyed glance at Talon, pulled his arms back into his cell, and stumbled back towards the small cot by the back wall. He promptly collapsed on the thin mattress,

"Fuck, I'm wasted." he muttered, before rolling over and falling asleep.

"We're going to have to get a guard on him." Talon said, turning to look at Maggie. Before he could say anything, however, he passed out and hit the bare stone floor, hard.

"Talon!" Maggie shouted, as she ran to the panther's side, with Elisa and Goliath right behind her, "Talon!" she shouted again as she tried to shake him back into consciousness.

"Keep his head off the ground." came a curt command from the cells, "And try to get some ammonia or something to keep him awake."

Elisa promptly lifted her brother head into her lap, and Maggie ran towards the room that housed the Labyrinths meager stock of medical supplies.

"I think I hit him a lot harder than I wanted to, might have cracked his skull…"

Elisa looked up sharply and saw Angel sitting on his cot and watching her brother with what seemed to be an actual look of concern on his face.

"Maybe you should have though about that ibefore,/i you bashed his skull with a pistol grip."

Angel shrugged,

"He started it. Anyway, you should get him to a CAT scan pretty soon, or at least a brain surgeon."

"Yeah, get the big cat to a CAT scan! Ha!" Fang shouted from his cell.

Angel glared drunkenly at his fellow inmate.

"How the fuck has no one killed you?" he demanded.

Elisa ignored the discourse between the thugs and asked Angel,  
"Why do you care?"

"What? It was just a fight lady, if I wanted the furry guy dead I would have just shot him."

Goliath shook his head,

"And the man Talon and the clones stopped you from mutilating? Was that 'just a fight'?"

"Oh you heard about that?" Angel asked, his speech a bit slow "I don't know. It seemed like the thing to do at the time. Either way, that guy started it. Not my fault he wasn't ready for the consequences." Angel sighed tiredly, lay down on the cot and fell back asleep. Maggie returned shortly afterwards with a packet of ammonia poppers. Elisa took them and quickly cracked one open under her brothers nose.

Talon sputtered back to life,

"What happened?' he asked.

"You passed out." Maggie said, crouching down by Talons side, she took one of his hands in hers, "We need to get you to a doctor."

Talon laughed,

"I wish…but they won't even let me into Belle View with me looking like this."

Elisa looked down at the ground, deep in thought,

"I know someone who can help." She said.

"Who?" Talon asked, then his features froze in anger, "No way. Not ihim/i. Not Xanatos."

"Derek, your skull might be fractured, you need a hospital."

"But…"

"But nothing. Look what's the big deal? he already helps out around here, doesn't he?"

"That's different Elisa!" Talon shot back, as he tried to get up off the floor.

Elisa glared at her brother,

"Derek Maza, you are going to go to the Eyrie building, you are going to set in ihis/i hospital ward and get help before your brain gets anymore damaged than it already is."

She turned to the huge gargoyle by her side, "Goliath!"

"Yes Elisa?"

"You're going to fly this moron to the castle. If he gives you any trouble wrap a steel bar around his hands and knock him out again. Okay?"

"Yes Elisa." Talon and Goliath said at the same time.

"Good."

"Ah, Elisa?"

"Yeah Maggie?"

"Who's going to watch them?" Maggie asked, pointing at the cells.

Elisa looked over at the two inmates; Fang, barely able to avoid showing any signs of abject glee at the sight of Talons distress, and Angel, face down on his cot and seemingly fast asleep.

"I will."

"Elisa?" Goliath asked sharply,

"You have to carry Derek, Big Guy, and Maggie needs to go with you."

"As you wish, Elisa." Goliath said, as he slowly picked Talon up off the ground.

"I could get Claw or the one of the clones down here, Elisa." Maggie offered.

"No time Maggie. You have to get moving."

"Alright…but I'll send someone to find you some help if I can, alright?"

"Sounds good to me."

Goliath and Maggie started off down the hall, and Elisa watched them until they fell out of sight. Then she pulled up the folding chair left over from Demonas stay the previous

year, and sat down.

Fang leered at her from his cell,

"Hey Elisa!" he said, pointing at the black dress, "You get all dressed up for me or what?"

Elisa glared at the mutated renegade, then reached under her jacket, pulled out her Glock, racked the slide, and casually set it in her lap.

"Just kiddin'!" Fang quickly said, before moving to the far corner of his cell.

Elisa heard a small laugh from the direction of Angel's cell, but when she turned the biker was still laying on his cot, fast asleep.

As could be predicted, there was some minor hostility displayed when Xanatos approached the mutates and Goliath upon their landing at the Eyrie; with a groggy Derek still protesting his treatment and Maggie scowling at the rich human who had so casually played with her life. When they reached the small hospital ward in the Eyrie, the billionaire wisely stayed in the background as Goliath carefully laid the injured Talon down on a Gurney and was whisked away by the billionaires well paid, and very discrete, medical team.

"I don't know what the fuss was all about," Xanatos' doctor said as he looked at the readings from the scanner in the other room, "It a just a concussion, not exactly a minor one, but still not life-threatening, and I wouldn't anticipate any kind of brain damage…"

"Are you sure?" Goliath asked,

"Of course! From the look of it, whoever told you this was brain damage was having some fun with you." the doctor looked the huge gargoyle over for a moment, "Although I can't imagine who would be that foolish."

Goliath shook his head, and as he did so, he spotted Maggie leaning against the glass, watching over Talon with a look of relief on her face.

That's when it him;

Talon was here, Maggie was here; that left the Labyrinth without its two most commanding personalities.

And the gargoyle who had so skillfully maneuvered them away was now locked up in a leaderless prison that was ripe for attack.

A gargoyle that was also now locked away with Goliaths very body and soul as his only jailor.

Goliath turned and ran from the room, surprising both the lioness mutate and human doctor with his sudden urgent speed, in the hallway Goliath saw Xanatos standing nearby,

"Xanatos! Radio my clan, tell them to go to the Labyrinth with all possible haste!"

"Wait, Goliath what…" Xanatos began to ask, but the lavender gargoyle was already disappearing down the corridor at full speed.

Xanatos raised an eyebrow, then pulled a small radio out of his jacket pocket.

"Owen, get in contact with Goliaths clan and tell them their leader wants them to head to the Labyrinth as quickly as they can."

"Of course, Mr. Xanatos…might I inquire why, in case the Clan have any inquires?"

Xanatos walked down the hallway towards an elevator as he answered ,

"Not sure myself Owen, but I think our outlaw biker friend might have pulled a fast one on Goliath and the mutates."

"Very well sir."

"And Owen?" the billionaire added as the elevators doors slid open,

"Yes, Mr. Xanatos?"

"Could you please ask Fox to meet me in the main hanger?"

"Very well, sir."

Elisa was doing her best to watch the cells, but her mind kept wondering to her brother, wondering if he was going to be alright.

She was slightly distracted then, when she felt a light tug at her jacket sleeve.

"Jeeezus!" she cried in surprise,

"Sorry."

Elisa looked up into an almost mirror image of herself, albeit with wings, a tail, brow ridges, and high arched feet,

"Delilah, what…"

"We have a problem."

"What?"

Delilah pointed at Angel,

"His friends are here." she said, "And they've brought ialot/i of guns with them."

"Wha…how?" Elisa glared at Angel, "Oh you ison of a bitch/i!"

The biker rolled over on his cot and looked at Elisa;

"Sorry, I forgot to mention that my brothers knew how to get to this shithole, didn't I?"

he casually said, before rolling back over and falling asleep.


	20. Chapter 20

Labyrinth, Security Center-

The Vikingz had, indeed, brought a lot of guns, Elisa saw as she watched the bikers unloading more and more weapons from the two vans they'd parked in front of the abandoned factory that disguised the surface entrance to the Labyrinth.

Elisa peered closer at the monitor, watching as two Vikingz loaded a belt of ammunition into the feed tray of a S.A.W. machine gun. Other bikers were carrying M162A2 assault rifle's with grenade launchers mounted under the barrels, while a few had LAW disposable rocket launchers slung on their backs,

Elisa shook her head in dismay; it appeared some of the weapons the Quarrymen had stolen had ended up for sale on the streets of New York despite the ATF's intervention.

"Bad?" Malibu asked as the Vikingz formed themselves into a military-style firing line and prepared to move inside the factory's massive front doors.

"Yes Malibu." Elisa said, noticing that none of the bikers were wearing their distinctive green and blue three piece patches, "Very, very bad." Elisa turned and took stock of the forces available to her;

Four clones of great strength but minimal intelligence, one mute, somewhat sheepish tiger mutate, and one mixed DNA clone of her and her greatest nemesis( At least now that Tony Dracon had found his way unto the business end of a shiv). Against that was a force of maybe twelve outlaw bikers, armed to the teeth with military grade weaponry.

She'd had worse odds, she decided.

i'At least the Vikingz will actually/idie i if I shoot them'/i she thought, grimly.

"Claw." she said, turning to face the mutate, "I'm going to guess that these guys know where the elevator is in that building, thanks to me, but is there a staircase or something like that up there too?"

The tiger striped mutate nodded,

"Okay." Elisa reached into her jacket and pulled out the radio that linked her to the clan,

"Goliath" she spoke into the receiver, praying she'd get a signal so far beneath the streets, "We have a situation here…"

"I feared so, Elisa." Goliaths voice crackled with static, but it was understandable, "The clan and I are on the way. How many?"

"Looks like about twelve, but they have enough guns to start the apocalypse."

There was a long silence,  
"I understand, Elisa. We'll hurry."

"Got it."

Elisa turned to Claw.

"Lets go." she said, pulling out her sidearm.

The Vikingz kept their loose formation as they stalked through the factory floor, keeping a wary eye on the shadows that covered the space between the abandoned machinery that had been left behind when the building had been abandoned. "Found it!" shouted Gothic, as the pale skinned outlaw slide his hands across what appeared to be a small machine shed that sat in the center of the massive factory building.

"You sure?" Tramp asked, eyeing the rusting shed dubiously,

"Yeah I'm sure, asshole, now get over here and…" whatever Gothic wanted Tramp to do, he didn't get a chance to say, as Burbank suddenly leapt over the roof of the shed and slammed the biker into the rusted door of the machine shed. Gothic was instantly knocked unconscious, but the clones attack was quickly greeted with a maelstrom of gunfire as the Vikingz poured fire down on him. The clone darted back out of sight and made a dash for cover as the Vikingz rushed forward, gathering around Gothic.

"He's out like a light," Doc, the Vikingz medic reported as he crouched down to examine his disabled comrade, "Probably some broke up bones too."

"Leave him out for now then," Skagg ordered, "Det, get that door open, Jesse, Billy, cover him. Animal, get everyone else to start lookin' for the rest of these pricks." Skagg pointed at the shed to show just what i'this thing'/i meant.

"Got it." the hairy outlaw agreed, as he began to throw the Vikingz into a loose order amongst the bits of rusted machinery around the elevator entrance

"Malibu, Brentwood, go after those two on the right." Elisa commanded, from a vantage point on a rusted catwalk that overlooked the factory floor, "Delilah I want you too…"

Then, from the ground below, came a shout of "I SEE 'EM!!!" and a loud *whooshing* sound as one of the bikers cut loose with a LAW rocket, followed almost immediately by an explosion that sent Elisa sprawling to the metal grating she stood on…then came a sound of tortured metal slowly giving way…

"Move!" shouted someone in Elisa's voice , although Elisa herself was relatively sure she hadn't said anything. Then Elisa felt someone pick her up, then leap over the railing and float effortlessly to the factory floor down below. Elisa came out of her daze, and looked up to see Delilah. The clone turned to the Labyrinth's defenders

"Spread out, try and move in on them if you ca…"

There was a noise like ripping clothe amplified a hundred times over, and a storm of bullets began to slash through the air around the labyrinths defenders.

"Get down!" Elisa shouted, as she grabbed Delilah by the clones red jacket and pulled her to earth, "Everyone take cover!" she shouted again, this time at the clones and the lone mutate, although they didn't need any encouragement other than the Vikingz gunfire to dive behind whatever solid objects were nearby.

Elisa drew her Glock, but the pistol was going to be of little use against the belt fed behemoths that were being fired at her.

A deep, *crump* cut through the din of automatic weapons fire, and a 40mm grenade exploded not to far from the machine where she and Delilah were hiding.

"Jesus…" Elisa peered through a gap in machine she was hiding behind, and saw four winking muzzle flashes where the Vikingz gathered.

i "That leaves six"/i she thought,

Then she spotted a few shadows flitting between the massive bits of manufacturing equipment. The Vikingz were flanking the Labyrinth dwellers while the heavy weapons kept them pinned down. Not good.

"Claw!" Elisa said, pointing at the shadows, "The Vikingz are trying to get behind us, take someone and see if you can stop them."

The mute clone nodded, tugged on Burbank's arm, and began to low crawl across the floor, keeping various bits of cover between him and the Vikingz machine guns. The clone followed suit. A few moments later, the area the Vikingz had been sneaking through was lit with two bright flashes of electricity, followed by profane shouts of alarm and loud burst of assault rifle fire. After that, three Vikingz ran back towards their strongpoint. Claw dropped one with a blast of electricity that sent the machine gun toting biker sprawling to the floor, but the two remaining bikers laid down a storm of fire, then ran back to drag their comrade back to the stronghold around the elevator. As soon as they reached it, another LAW streaked across the warehouse and slammed home not far from where Elisa, Delilah, and the remaining clones still hid under the Vikingz machine gun fire.

"Did we stop them?" Delilah asked Elisa as she huddled closer to the machine she and the detective here sheltering behind,

"We stopped that bunch…but I'd bet there's more coming from the left." Elisa guessed, and was quickly proved right as a burst of assault rifle fire passed just above her had and bounced off the steel machinery and ricocheted away.

The quick-thinking detective again grabbed a handful of Delilah's jacket and dragged the clone with her as she leaped behind another machine that would offer better cover, all the while laying down a storm of return fire with her Glock.

She was just in time too, as another deep *crump* announced the oncoming of another 40mm grenade from one of the Vikingz launchers.

The grenade blew the top off a nearby steel press, sending a few bits of jagged shrapnel flying; it didn't harm anyone, but it did manage to drive the rest of the clones closer to Elisa.

"Not good…"Elisa muttered, as she realized that her force was now outflanked as well as outgunned.

"Elisa?" a voice crackled, "Elisa are you there?"

The raven haired detective's eyes widened and she grabbed her communicator out of her jacket pocket,

"Goliath?!?"

"Elisa, what's…"

"Goliath, shut up and listen to me for a second…."

"Man, we got theses freaks now!" Jesses gloated, as he, Animal, and Psycho kept the fire on the Labyrinths defenders from their flanking position.

"Less talking, more bullets jackass." Animal barked as the former US marine raked his SAW back and forth across the machinery that sheltered the Labyrinth dwellers.

"Yeah, sure,imano/i." Jesse agreed as he slid a fresh magazine into his M-16A2.

Before the Latino outlaw could open fire however, his rifle was yanked out of his hands by a pair of brick red, taloned, hands.

"Didn't your mom tell you not to play with guns?" Brooklyn asked as he snapped the assault rifle he had just appropriated in half.

"Shit!" Animal shouted, as he brought his machine gun around. He never completed the movement, as Goliath leapt down form the rafter's above and landed squarely on the bikers shoulders, leveling him straight to the floor and knocking him out cold.

Jesse tried to scramble to his feet, but a quick blow from Lexington as the web-winged gargoyle emerged from the shadows put him back down.

Psycho, meanwhile, did his best to slip away unnoticed, but Hudson grabbed the wild-eyed outlaw from behind and placed the razor sharp edge of his sword at the biker's throat.

"I think ye'd best be droppin' that gun,"

"Yep." Psycho quickly agreed, as he dropped his rifle to the ground.

"Good." Hudson said, before smacking the flat of his sword across the bikers head, knocking him unconscious.

"Well, that's that." Brooklyn announced, "Now let's hope Angela and Broadway got to where they needed to be…"

The gargoyle turned an anxious eye to the battered shed the remaining Vikingz had clustered around.

"Ready?" Angela asked her mate.

"As I can be." her mate answered, somewhat breathless from their dash through the Labyrinth and up the elevator shaft; they'd had to climb, as Elisa had cut the power to the elevator in case the Vikingz managed to find the operating switch on the surface.

Angela smiled, then wrenched the doors open and leapt through.

Skagg had turned to see what was going on when he heard the first sounds of twisting metal coming form the Elevator, and was just in time to see Angela leap out, quickly followed by Broadway.

The Vikingz second in command had just in enough time to shout a warning and squeeze off a burst of fire from his CAR-15 before he darted away, with the few remaining Vikingz close behind.

"Fall back!" Skagg shouted, as he made a break for the doors to the abandoned factory.

His way was quickly blocked as the clones emerged from hiding,

"Back!" he shouted, as he brought his carbine to his shoulder, but Tramp slapped him on the back before he could open fire.

"No good dude," the pudgy biker announced, and Skagg turned to see that the Manhattan clan had assembled behind them.

The Vikingz were caught in the open.

Goliath took a step forward, and the Vikingz fell into a loose double line, with an arsenal of guns pointing at both the Manhattan clan and their clones. Goliath hesitated for a moment, knowing that there was no way he could advance without losing lives to the Vikingz guns. Just the same, the biker knew they couldn't escape. It was a standoff, and for a few moments, a deep silence pervaded the battleground that had once been a factory.

The silence ended with the sound of whining jet engines.

The steel clan suddenly poured inside, with David Xanatos and Fox at its head, both wearing red battle armor.

The armored robots landed around the bewildered Vikingz, and each one quickly leveled an arm laser at the band of outlaws.

"Drop your weapons," Xanatos commanded,

The bikers were silent, but their defiant stares spoke volumes.

"Or you could let us test out our new armor…" Fox added.

Skagg snorted in disdain. Then the wail of approaching sirens cut through the tense stand off, and the Vikingz grew a lot less defiant.

The outlaws began to look around for an escape route, but they found none.

Then Charmer nudged his Vice President and motioned to a nearby machine. Skagg glanced over, and then nodded.

The other Vikingz exchanged glances, nodded, and began to drop their weapons to the floor, them they quickly began to shed the ammunition, grenades, and explosives they were all carrying.

As the last bag of magazines dropped to the floor, Xanatos took a step forward.

That's when the Vikingz burst into furious action, as the bikers began to stoop to the ground and toss their arsenal into a deep pool of water that had gathered in the deep crawlspace under one of the near by rusting factory machines. Xanatos halted for a moment, unsure of what was happening, but Fox darted forward,

"Stop them!" she shouted, but it was too late, and the last of bit of weaponry splashed into the water before anyone could stop it.

"What was that about?" Lexington asked, as the Manhattan clan came up behind Xanatos.

"Wiped out their fingerprints." Fox said, her voice gaining a metallic edge as it came through the speakers of her armored suit. "Not that it's really going to matter in the long run, I suppose."

Skagg laughed hysterically.

"What's so funny?" Elisa demanded of the Vikingz second in command.

Skagg shrugged,

"Not much…just its going to be funny to this bunch…" Skagg pointed to the army of robots, clones, gargoyles, and mutates that had surrounded him and his brethren, "explain to the cops exactly what it was we supposedly did. Or hell, since no one who wouldn't have a bitch of a time explaining what they were doing down here in the first place actually isaw/i us doing anything…"

Elisa glowered,

"We'll still have more than enough evidence too…"

"Whatever."

Goliath looked down at the sneering bikers, and his eyes began to burn with white light;

"You will tell the police all about what you did tonight…or face ime/i."

Skagg shrugged,

"'Kay."

Goliath growled and loomed over the Vikingz vice president,

"You fail to grasp…"

"What? That your big an' fuckin' scary, and I should let the cops know what a bad boy I've been or the big bad gargoyles will get me?" Skagg snorted, "Whatever dude. I ain't coping to weapons charges just 'cause you say so. You're a hell of a lot less scary than federal prison, motherfucker."

Skagg glared defiantly up at Goliath, who snarled in frustration at the bikers apparent lack of intimidation. Elisa set a hand on her massive lovers shoulder;

"Clam down big guy. These punks aren't worth getting worked up over."

"Punk?" Tramp growled, "Pig I will fu…"

"Shut up Tramp." Skagg barked, "These fucks aren't worth getting worked up over."

The Vikingz laughed, and the assembled heroes grew even more frustrated, except for Elisa, who smiled sweetly as the sirens grew closer, than turned to the other gargoyles,

"Guys…make sure these thugs won't be going anywhere for awhile."

The Manhattan clan moved quickly to wrench various bits of steel off of the factories long abandoned machinery to bind the disparate band of outlaws.

"I don't see why your bothering, lady. Just gonna be out by dawn anyway…." Skagg smugly announced as Brooklyn wound a steel control lever around his wrists

"Mm-hm. Hard to bail on the multiple murder warrant you guys have."

Skagg paled, as the long forgotten charges against his club were brought swiftly and decisively back into the forefront.

"You fucking bitch!!!" he snarled, before breaking free of Brooklyn's grasp and lunging at Elisa. He got almost halfway to his target before Goliath threw out an arm and clothes lined the biker to the concrete floor.

The sirens were much closer now, blocks away at most.

"Okay guys, you need to get out of here." Elisa announced, "You too Xanatos."

"Wise idea detective." Xanatos agreed, before shooting upwards and out a hole in the roof of the factory, with Fox and the steel clan following behind.

Elisa looked at Goliath,

"Okay big guy, your turn."

The lavender gargoyle nodded and waved at his clan to follow him out of the factories back door.

Elisa looked around, and realized she was alone,

"Claw?" Hello?" No answer from the now very dark factory, "Um…Delilah?"

"Yes Elisa?"

"Gah!" Elis shouted in surprise, turning to find the clones and Claw standing behind her, adding the trussed forms of the various Vikingz members that been knocked out to the line of their still conscious comrades on the floor.

"Sorry…we went to get the others while you were talking." Delilah said, smiling slightly.

"Well…uh. good job." Elisa said, smiling back.

The sirens were coming to halt outside, and there was a sound of squealing tires.

"We go inside now?" Malibu asked.

"Yeah. Quickly too, and someone go pull the elevator doors shut, everybody else, inside." Elisa said, as she led the way back towards the concealed stairway down to the Labyrinth.

Moments later, a flood of police with guns drawn poured into the factory floor, a few coughing as they sucked in the acrid fumes of cordite and smoke that still permeated the site of the short and furious firefight,

"Spread out! Be sure and…holy shit…"

the flood came to a halt when the officers spotted the scattered and trussed up group of bikers.

"What the hell happened here?" a sergeant demanded, of none in particular.

"I don't know for sure," Tramp announced from his position on the floor. He flexed his bound hands contemplatively and looked at his bruised, battered, and occasionally unconscious comrades, "But I can tell you, there were a LOT of them motherfucker's."

"Big guys, too." Billy declared.

"And you should have seen the hardware they were packin'." Charmer added

As the policemen above began to take the battered Vikingz into custody, Elisa congratulated the small group of clones that had fought by her side to keep the outlaws away from the Labyrinth's inner sanctum.

"Guys all I can say is…good job. You kept one of the worst bands of criminals I've ever met away from all these people…" Elisa looked around at the various homeless that made up the ragged population of the labyrinth, "If you hadn't put up such a fight, there's no telling how bad it would have gotten."

Delilah looked at Elisa, seemingly deeply hurt by something, but kept her silence.

"Now, lets go see if the arch criminal has managed to escape while we were out." Elisa, as she headed towards the Labyrinths cell block.

i"And it'll be fun to see the look on the bastards face when he finds out his private army has been busted."/i she thought to herself.

She was a bit disappointed, then, when she found that the outlaw leader was nor arrogantly leaning on the bars of his cell and waiting for his brethren to break him out, but kneeling in front of the cell's steel toilet and puking his guts out.

"Sonofabitch…" the biker was muttering "Sonofabitching vodka alwaysbluagggg!!" Angel emptied more of his stomach contents into the toilet bowel, and then leaned his head on its stainless steel rim.

"Aw fuck…" he whispered.

From his cell next door, Fang laughed at the bikers distress.

"Having fun pal?" he asked,

Angel flipped the mutate off and puked again.

"Oh for gods sake." Elisa said, as she saw the ruthless outlaw whose followers had just tried to kill her sink to the floor, moaning in misery.

Angel suddenly rolled unto his knees, but he didn't do anything more dangerous than stick his face back into the toilet and heave again.

Elisa rolled her eyes and turned to Claw,

"Open the cell."

Claw shook his head,  
"What? Why not?"

The mutate pantomimed Angels distress as a probable trick to cover an escape attempt.

Elisa looked at the obvious distress Angel seemed to be in as he slid back to the concrete ground and roll unto his back.

"I really, really, doubt that Claw. And even if it is," Elisa motioned at the clones "He can't get through all of us."

Claw raised an eyebrow and cocked his head, as if silently asking the detective, i"You weren't here when we tried to get the psycho into that cage, were you?"/i

"Just open the before he chokes on his own vomit, ok?"

Claw reluctantly moved down the corridor and flicked a switch on the wall that unlocked the door to Angel's cell.

As the heavy barred door slid open, Elisa cautiously moved inside and crouched next to the wretched outlaw,

"How you doing?" she asked.

"Ungh." Angel looked up at the police detective, "Oh shit, you fucks managed to take care of my boys didn't you?"

"Yeah."

Angel let out a pained cry of distress,

"They alright? They kill anybody?"

"No, and no."

"Oh. Well good. Now if you'll excuse me…" Angel sat up again and emptied what appeared to be the last of his stomach contents into the toilet, before slumping to the floor again, "Y'know that feeling you get when the booze hits you all at once?" Angel asked no one in particular as he splayed across the floor of the cell, "It really sucks."

Elisa shook her head,

"Bedtime, Angel."

The biker nodded,

"Okay." he tried to stand, but didn't get all that far before hitting the ground again.

Elisa sighed in exasperation,

"Someone give me a hand with this moron?" she asked, looking up at the assembly in the hallway. No one moved. Claw looked skeptical, the clones looked at the semi-conscious biker with a mix of fear and confusion, and Delilah was staring at the outlaw with a look of utter distaste mixed with what appeared to be some kind of disappointment.

"Would someone please give me hand?" Elisa repeated, and again no one moved.

"Hold on a second, Elisa." someone said from behind the crowd, and Maggie suddenly pushed her way through to the front.

"Maggie?" Elisa stood up, forgetting the winged one-percenter for a moment, "When did you get here…how's Derek?"

"Derek's fine, Elisa. It was just a bad concussion."

Elisa raised an eyebrow and looked back at the unconscious outlaw, noticing for the first time that the tan gargoyle had been stripped of the leather vest that bore his Vikingz insignia,

"Apparently he was just trying to…stir things up." Maggie said, guessing were Elisa's thoughts were going "And we took the bait."

Angel groaned and tried to roll over; he didn't get very far.

"We'll worry about that later, right now, we need to make sure he doesn't wind up choking on his own vomit."

Maggie nodded,

"You grab his feet, I'll get his shoulders."

the two grabbed a hold of the outlaw and half carried, half dragged him to his cot.

i Somewhere in Western Yugoslavia/i

Arachenko detachedly watched the band of Serb paramilitaries he was working for run riot through another village, accompanied by the usual sound track of screams and gunshots.

"This is getting old, itovarisch polkovnik/i." Kulokov commented from his perch on top of the BMP command vehicle Sergey was currently using. The Russian mercenary leader snorted in amusement; besides the change in vehicle, this could have been one of a half dozen times he and his fellow merc had watched their paymasters and their troops ravage a village whose sole offense had been that its inhabitants had gone to a different church. When Sergey commented on this, Kulokov snorted in disdain,

"And wasn't it so nice of the fat Hitlerite to get you this shiny new APC?" Kulokov said, pointing at the forest of radio antennas that stuck up from the rear deck of the armored personnel carrier; a feature that stood an exceptionally good chance of turning the vehicle into a number one target of any enemy that spotted it; this, of course, suited Sergey down to the nines, but he was careful not to mention that fact.

"iDa/i. You'd think our friends wanted to get rid of me or something…"

"If that's the case Colonel, me and the boys will be sure and thank them before we move on to greener pastures…after we get our wages, of course."

"I'm sure I'll appreciate that, Sergeant."

"No problem, sir." Kulokov grinned, "Rest assured your soul will sleep peacefully after a suitable vengeance on your behalf."

"Soul? Pah! Bourgeois superstition." The two mercenaries turned disdainful eyes on the APCs driver, who was laying on the BMP's frontal glacis plate, using a padded Russian tankers helmet as a pillow.

"If the Comrade Commissar would mind keeping his bullshit to himself…" Kulokov dryly commented.

"Fuck iyou/I Kulokov! You spoiled child, if you had been around to see how ireal/i communists behaved…"

"Shut up, you jackass; if your such a committed Soviet, why the hell are you here with us poor, lowly i_mercenaries/i_?"

The driver laughed;

"Point."

Sergey rolled his eyes, than pulled back the sleeve of the faded camouflage fatigue jacket he was wearing and checked his watch,

"The Fat Fuck wants us to roll out before midnight and clear the next village for him."

The driver and Kulokov laughed,

"Wants us to be sure his pet ifascisti/i have a nice, easy time of things does he?" the driver asked.

"Maybe the next lot will have something more dangerous to us than a few AK's and a patriotic war vintage hand grenade."

"Shit!" the driver shook his head as he slid down a hatch and into his driver's position

"It's all well and good with me if all they have are rocks and rusty kitchen knives, itovarischi ."

"Well, you always were a pussy, Baradnovic." Kulokov retorted as he hopped off the BMP to gather the small team of mercs that rode in Sergey's APC.

Sergey keyed the throat mike he wore and radioed the other mercenaries under his command;

"Vostok-2, Guards-3, Kabul-5, is Kulak-1. We're rolling out in…" Sergey checked his watch, "Fifteen minutes, headed for the next village. Gather up the bandits and prepare to move. Column positions, copy?"

"Acknowledged." the three replies came almost simultaneously.

Fifteen minutes later, a BRDM-2 scout car pulled unto the cracked, badly paved road that snaked out of the small valley the burning village nestled in and sped down the road, followed by Sergey's command BMP and two BTR-60 personnel carriers.

Sergey slide down into the BMPs main compartment and looked at a plastic covered map that was tacked to the interior wall. He carefully studied the poorly copied Soviet-era map, than turned t o look into the cramped crew compartment.

"Kulokov!" he had to shout to be heard over the deafening roar of the APC's engines,

"iDa, Pulkovnik?!?/i" the mercenary sergeant shouted back,

Sergey motioned his comrade forward, and Kulokov set his machine gun in a storage rack and squeezed past the other two soldier in the command tracks troop bay.

"What is it, sir?!?" he asked as he crouched next to Sergey's command station.  
"What do you think of this?!?" Sergey used a red marker to circle something on the map,

Kulokov raised an eyebrow and shook his head;

"Is that's accurate, it would be a good place to avoid, colonel!"

"I know!"

Sergey picked up radio handset from the battery of communication gear that stood next to the command vehicles commanders' station.

"This is Kulak-1 to all iRusskiya/I, halt immediately."

Sergey and Kulokove pitched forward and Baradnovic slammed on the BMP's brakes.

"Communist piece of shit!" Kulokov shouted at the drivers compartment in the front of the BMP,  
Baradnovic laughed.

Sergey pushed the heavy sergeant off of him and looked back at his map, pointing at the part he'd circled in red.

"If-and I do mean iif/i-this map is right, then we're walking into the worlds greatest ambush site."

Kuklokov looked closer and studied the circled area; it was a long gap in a small mountain range, with a few winding curves and high cliffs on either side.

"We don't have any reason to suspect resistance."

Sergey shook his head,

"The psychotic monkeys have been pushing these people up against the wall for a long time, and sooner or later their going to push back. And if there was ever a good place to do some pushing…"

"iDa/i" I agree with you there…but is there a way around this gap?"

Sergey studied the map closer,

"Not marked on this thing, unless we want to make a one-hundred forty kilometer detour halfway to the border. And that would bring us right into the patrol zones for those American attack helicopters."

Kulokov shrugged,

"So what do you want to do then?"

Sergey scratched the blond stubble growing on his chin,

"Head in as close as we can to this gap without being seen, then you and I will advance forward with the scout vehicle and see if we can spot any trouble before it has a chance to land on our heads. Then we wait for the fat fuck and his boys to catch up with us"

"If the scum don't break and run at the first sign of trouble, that is."

Sergey nodded,

"Likely, but it will give the Bosnians something to shoot at besides us, inyet/i?"

Sergey grabbed a small protractor that sat in a small pouch attached to the map, along with a black marker. He measured a distance and marked it, then keyed his throat mic,  
"All main body elements we're moving out to Voshkod-2's position; Voshkod-2 remain in place. All elements copy?"

The other mercenary vehicles acknowledged their commanders orders, and soon the column was moving again.

Sergey climbed back in to the BMP's cupola and popped open the hatch and stuck his head out into the cool night air.

He thought about the valley that he and his sergeant had discussed;

Perfect ambush position .Winding, narrow Road, towering cliffs on either side. Just like ithat/i valley.

iNew York City/i

Angel groaned in pain as he regained consciousness; his head was throbbing.

"Aww fuck…" he muttered, and quickly realized his mouth tasted like raw bile and his stomach felt like a boiler.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid."

He looked up from the small bed he'd been sprawled out on and looked around.

He stiffened when he saw the wall of bars, and realized he was in a cell.

"Aw man, I fuckin' hate wakin' up in jail." he said aloud,

He ran a hand through his black hair and looked behind him.

That's when he saw the mutate that was in the energy filed surrounded cell next to him.

"Wait wha…" he looked to wards the front of the cell and saw the stone form of Malibu crouched in front of the cell's, apparently having gone to sleep there after keeping watch until dawn.

"No…no way…" Angel looked about in desperation looking for some proof that he was actually in the safe, easily bailed out of clutches of some odd police department. He found none.

"Aw iFUCK/i!!" Angel shouted, then promptly fell to the floor as the noise form his cry sent shockwaves of pain into his head.


	21. Chapter 21

iManhattan Island, 16th New York City Police Department Precinct/i

"None of them has said ianything/i?"

"Naw Lieutenant, they haven't spoken a word; we've laid into 'em all pretty hard…"

the detective pointed at two way mirror and the interrogation room beyond.

Two beefy looking uniformed officers were shouting insults and threats at a fat, heavily bearded man in a grease stained Harley Davidson T-shirt; the biker was staring straight down at the table.

One of the police officers slammed his fist down on the stainless steel table in the interrogation room; the biker stirred slightly and shifted in his chair. It was clear by the expression on his face that he had been sleeping.

This sent the two cops into a frenzy of shouting and fist pounding.

The fat biker grinned and spoke for the first time in the half hour the Lieutenant and the detective had been watching the interrogation.

"This shit is better than watching Gorillas at the fuckin' zoo."

This set one of the officers over the edge and he slammed a fist into the bikers eye, sending the fat man and the chair he was handcuffed too straight to the interrogations room floor.

The officers in the room moved forward, expecting some form of retaliation from the supposedly dangerous felon, but the biker burst into gales of laughter instead.  
"Asshole, I spent my whole life gettin' my ass beat by iLA cops/i. You New York queers hit like my sister…" the biker grinned broadly, "So are we done or do you wanna get the nightsticks out so I can sue your asses in style?"

"You motherfuc…" the cop who had slugged the biker roared as he lunged forward. But his partner quickly wrapped an arm around him and dragged him out of the interrogation room.

Back on the other side of the glass, the Lieutenant shook his head and turned to the detective.  
"I've seen enough. Ship these sorry assholes off to Rikers Island for the weekend."  
"Lieutenant, we still might."

"No. Get these pricks out of my precinct." the Lieutenant turned and left the observation room, "And tell the kids in forensics that their going to be getting a lot of overtime for the next two days. 'Cuz if this case breaks, it's not gonna be because one of these biker assholes starts talking."

iCastle Wyvern/i

Detective Elisa Maza raised a hand to her face to shield herself form the spray of stone fragments as Goliath burst from stone sleep to greet the night.

After shaking off the last of the stone fragments that clung to his skin, Goliath hopped off the crenellation and smiled when he saw Elisa.

""As always, my love, it is a pleasure to see you here when I awake." Goliath bowed slightly to Elisa, who rolled her eyes,

"You and that old world charm…"

"You would be surprised how well it works, my Elisa." Goliath proclaimed, "At least, how well it works on impressionable young human policewomen."

"Oh? And how many 'impressionable young human policewomen' have you tried it on, exactly?"

"Oh, I don't know…I suppose at least a half dozen. All of course, were just practice for the time when I would use them on you, my love."

"Oh really?"

Goliath smiled, and then scooped up Elisa into his arms before planting a deep kiss on her lips.

"Your not normally this…frisky, Goliath. What's up?" Elisa asked her gargoyle mate,

"I apologize, my Elisa…" Goliath nuzzled her neck, "But I believe you are coming up on 'that time of the month'."

Elisa smiled; once a month, her cycle would drive her gargoyle lover into a frenzy of arousal that could only be a male gargoyle during mating season. Unfortunately, unlike a female gargoyle, during her 'breeding' period, she was unavailable for sexual activity. But before her menstrual cycle took full effect though, things could be…interesting.

"Shall we adjourn to a spare bedroom right away, or would you like to know what's been going on after you went to sleep for the day?" Elisa's words surprised her; normally she was hardly this wanton, but she found that both the true love she shared with Goliath and her oncoming period drove her to a frenzy that would nearly match her gargoyle lover's.

Goliath let out a theatrical sigh, then said,

"The news first, I suppose."

Elisa nodded,

"In front of the whole clan might be a good idea. This concerns all of them."

"Is it about the fight with the Vikingz last night?"

Elisa nodded.

"Very well then." Goliath leapt from the tower and glided down to the courtyard where the whole clan had gathered.

Elisa smiled at her clan as they assembled in the courtyard, than began;

"Sorry to sound like a broken record, guys, but I have some bad news; it looks like we definitely don't have enough evidence to charge the Vikingz in connection with the firefight last not…or anything else they've done since they got here, for that matter."

"What?" Brooklyn demanded, "You're telling me they got busted in the middle of a battle that they started, with enough stolen weapons to fight a war, and you ican't charge them with anything/i?"

Elisa shook her head;

"We can't prove that they were in possession of those weapons at any point; we can just prove that they were in the same building with them. We can't prove that they were using them, at all. And we can't get any of them to fold under interrogation, hell; we can't even get them to talk at all. The only thing they've said so far has been related through their attorney's; they explained their presence at the warehouse by saying they were looking to use it as a hang out for awhile, when a group of Quarrymen chased you guys" Elisa waved to encompass the gathered gargoyles, "inside and started shooting at them. When the police started to close in, the Quarrymen tossed their weapons and ran, and then you nabbed the Vikingz up and restrained them, despite their loud protests that they were completely innocent."

"Oh that story makes a whole lotta sense, doesn't it?" Brooklyn asked, as he planted a palm on his forehead.

"Unfortunately that's the only story we have right now. And considering that the vast majority of the weaponry stolen form that armory was found in Quarrymen hands, it makes a lot of sense to some people. Those people being the ones who have decided not to file any charges."

"But…" Lexington began to protest, but Elisa raised a hand too cut him off,

"However…the D.A. has contacted the prosecutors office in the county that has a warrant out for questioning in that murder case the Vikingz are suspected in. So we have an excuse to hold 'em until that comes through. In the meantime, we have all the time in the world to tie the Vikingz to what happened last night, or the thing in front of their hang out…or the bar Demona and the Vikingz got into that fight in…so really, it's only a matter of time before we can bust them."

"Or so we can hope." Brooklyn muttered,

"But in the meantime, the Vikingz are all either locked up, or, in a few cases, in a high security hospital ward under guard. And of course, Angel is still locked up in the Labyrinth."

"At least we can be thankful for that." Broadway said, with a smile.

"Aye." Hudson replied, "Is there anything else than lass?" he asked Elisa,

"Not on the law enforcement front, at least; things have been pretty quiet lately."

The elder gargoyles smiled,

"That the best news I could hear, Lass. These old bones aren't up to chasing brigands every night." Hudson hopped up on the battlements, "Anyway, enough of this talk, it's time we got to patrolling isn't it?"

Brooklyn looked at Goliath,

"Umm…do you want me to lead patrols for tonight, Goliath?" he asked; he had caught a whiff of the pheromones coming off of Elisa.

Goliath turned a deeper shade of purple,

"I…yes I think that might best."

"Okay, no problem. Catch ya later." Brooklyn and the rest of the clan began to leap off the battlements and take flight over the city.

Goliath turned to Elisa;

"Now, about that spare bedroom…"

iSomewhere in the South Bronx/i

At some point in time, the old brownstone building might have been quite attractive, luxurious even; unfortunately for the buildings current occupants, it seemed to have been at some point before the Civil War.

John Castaway, leader of the shattered remnants of the once formidable Quarrymen group, sat in a small room towards the back of the buildings second story, doing his best to ignore the constant buzzing from a hurricane lamp that sat perched on his improvised desk and perusing through a small notebook filled with a handwritten report on the remaining elements of his organization; between the series of raids by the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms a week earlier, and a continuous vendetta from New York's myriad array of outlaw motorcycle clubs, he didn't have that much left.

"This is iinexcusable/i." Castaway muttered, as he tossed the notebook down on the small folding card table that served as his desk, "Two hard years of work…completely wiped out."

"I know sir. It's a travesty, nothing less." said a man sitting across the table from the Quarrymen leader. Castaway looked up at him and smiled bitterly,

"You did good work on this report, Ernest. I just wish more of the organization had your…" ifanaticism/i "commitment."

Ernest sat up straighter in his chair; he still wore full Quarrymen uniform, even though doing so had become a virtual death sentence; just the other day a band of Pagans outlaw motorcycle club members had beaten a trio of Quarrymen almost to death while they had been on a gargoyle search and destroy patrol on Long Island.

"Sir, we still have enough men to launch a recruitment drive…if we could only get some more capital..."

Castaway sighed; his fiscal resources had dried up shortly after the ATF raids, and when he'd tried to contact his 'benefactors' in the Illuminati, all he had gotten was a polite note saying the he was too dangerous to associate with at the moment.

"I know, Ernest, if only we could try and reorganize, gather more support…but I'm afraid that the people of this city have turned away from us, turned away from their protectors, and are even now groveling at the feet of the very monsters we tried to save them from." Castaway ground his teeth together as he spat out those last words.

"Sir it's not as bad as that. It can't be. We do still have enough resources left for one more operation. If we can find the gargoyles nest we can wipe them out, once and for all!"

Castaway sighed an waved a hand at a large map of New York City that been tacked into the crumpling plaster of the wall next to his desk.  
"But where are they? We were never able to locate the…"

The hurricane lamp on the desk flickered, and then died, plunging the room into blackness.

It came back on quickly, and Ernest took the momentary interruption to field a plan;

"Sir, if we deploy enough surveillance teams to each city borough, we might be able to track one of the monsters back to their nest." Ernest looked over from the map and back to Castaway.

The Quarrymen leader had gone white as a sheet, and was staring at something behind his subordinate with wide eyes and a terrified expression.

"Sir what's wrong?" Ernest demanded, as he stood and looked around in confusion.

Castaway pointed a finger.

Ernest whipped around, and shouted in surprise as he found himself face to face with four bizarre…people?

They stood in loose order in front of the single door to the room, each one dressed in an identical dark suit, white shirt and red tie. Each one had their arms neatly folded behind their back in an identical fashion, adding another layer of stiffness to their already ramrod straight stance.

The most eerie feature of the quartet, however were the masks they wore; each one wore a full face mask, all white except for the features of a man with high, arched eyebrows, rosy red cheek coloration, a thin mustache and goatee, and a small, mocking smile.

"Identify yourselves!" Ernest shouted as he jumped to hid feet, panicking at the sight of these masked intruders, "Identify yourselves or I'll shoot!" the Quarrymen began to reach for his side arm…

the light flickered again, and suddenly one of the intruders was right next to panicked Quarrymen, and was nestling the barrel of a small machine pistol in the man's ear.

"We do not recommend that." the intruder said, the first of the quartet to speak; his voice was oddly hollow, and had a mechanical edge to it, "Calm yourself and sit back down. We mean you and your leader no harm."

Ernest didn't respond; his eyes were wide and staring, his mouth open in shock,

"Please Mr. Rohm, sit down." the stranger prompted again

The use of his last name startled the Quarrymen out of his stupor

"How, how did…you get over here?" The Quarrymen stammered,

The stranger removed the barrel of his pistol and stood back,

"We have our ways, Mr. Rohm, now sit down, if you would." one of the intruders by the door commanded.

The still startled Quarrymen did as he was asked.

"How do you know his name?" Castaway asked; the Quarrymen leader seemed to have regained his composure while the intruders had been dealing with his subordinate.

The stranger turned his masked face to Castaway, who flinched slightly under its seemingly eyeless gaze;

"We have our ways, Mr. Canmoore." another of the strangers by the door answered

Castaways eyes went wide,

"How did ya' know my name?" he demanded, his Scottish brogue coming on thick in the moment of surprise, "I swear ta' god if ya' don't keep that ta' yuirselves I'll…"

The intruders began to laugh, a sound that despite the same hollow, mechanical tone the first one too speak had shown, came across as gleefully maniacal.

"We are amused by your threats, John." one of the unknown intruders by the door explained, somewhat unnecessarily, "But you should know," the strangers voice lost the slight edge of amusement it had held before, and filled with ominous intent "nothing can hurt us, Mr. Canmoore. Nothing at all."

Castaways eyes narrowed,

"And why is that?"

"We are everyone. We are everywhere."

"And who, exactly, are you?" Castaway asked,

The figured al let out a small chuckle,

"We have had many names…" the one by the door supplied,

"…dozens in fact…" the one next to Ernst continued,

"…but for the sake of convenience…" another took up the sentence

"…you may address us as Unknown." the last finished.

Castaway and Ernest looked confused,

"But what do we call you as individuals?" Canmoore asked

"We are not individuals. We are one."

"But…" Castaway shook his head, as if too clear it, "Fine, I don't care. What is it you want with us."

"We want to help you hunt gargoyles." one of Unknown supplied, "We have never done it before, and we wish to experience it."

Castaways eyes flickered with anticipation for a moment, but he quickly regained some measure of shrewdness,

"And why should we let you join us? What do you bring to the table."

One of the Unknown cocked his head,

"Let us make one thing clear…we are not ijoining/i you. We are assisting you in hunting down the gargoyles because it's amusing to us. We will take your suggestions and allow ourselves too follow your commands, but we will not be your underlings."

Castaway ground his teeth together before asking,

"Then you had better be bringing me a hell of a lot of assistance."

The light flickered again, and suddenly one of the Unknown was sitting in the small folding chair that sat next to Ernest's; the other three had disappeared.

"We are mister Castaway." the Unknown let out one of those insane, mechanical laughs,

"We are."

iManhattan Island; The Labyrinth/i

Talon stood outside of the cell containing the latest inmate in the labyrinths cell block,

"It's probably just a hangover Mags, don't worry about it."

Maggie looked in on the gargoyle sprawled over one of the cheap cots inside,

"I'm not so sure Talon…he hasn't moved all day and…"

"Fuuucccccck…" at this profane intrusion, both mutates turned to see Angel begin too stir, he tried to stand, but apparently didn't get to far before his hangover hit and collapsed back unto the cot, "Supplement." he whispered,

"What was that?" Talon asked,

"Supplement. I need my supplement, man."

"Your what?"

"Protein…supplement. Should be in a plastic bag in the inside pocket of my rags…"

"Your what?"

"My vest, jackass."

"Right. Tell me why exactly do you need that stuff?"

"Die without it…need the energy." Angel implored, "Please man!"

Talon's eyes narrowed; he'd gone through the bikers leather vest earlier, and had found a plastic bag full of a yellowish powder he had assumed was some kind of drug.

"How do I know you telling the truth?"

"You don't." Angel returned; his normal manner breaking through the desperate veneer he had been putting up, "But I don't have any reason to lie to you about it, do I? So, either help me or take me somewhere where I can fucking well die in peace."

Talon snorted in amusement,

"All right biker boy…even if you are just trying to get you next hit of meth, I don't see it hurting anyone but you."

Angel shrugged,

"Thanks. And I don't do crank anymore."

It was Talon's turn to shrug,

"No difference to me."

Talon hobbled off to get the plastic bag with Angel's protein supplement; the hobble came from the fight the biker had put up when Talon and several of the clones had brought him into the Labyrinth after they caught the outlaw trying to curb stomp some hapless human outside of a bar in Brighton Beach.

The mutate leader returned momentarily and tossed the small plastic bag into the cell with its owner. The outlaw looked down at it, then back up at Talon,

"Glass?"

"What?"

"I need a glass to mix it in. Kind of hard to mix in that fuckin' fish bowl over there." Angel waved a hand at the small stainless steel sink that sat above the toilet.

Taking exception to the tone of command in the imprisoned gargoyle's voice, Talon glowered at the outlaw,

"Maybe you should give it a try." he growled,

"And maybe I should have snapped your goddamn neck when I had the chance." Angel shot back, with a smile.

Talon's glare grew darker; Angel returned it with outlaw mad-dogging that would have made lesser creatures run in terror.

Maggie suddenly rolled her eyes.

"Oh for god's sake…" she shouted before storming off in the direction of the labyrinths kitchen and returning shortly with a plastic glass for Angel to mix his supplement in.

She set the glass on the small opening for passing food in and out of the steel bars that fronted the cage Angel was locked inside.

Angel got to his feet, a little unsteadily, and walked over to pick it up; before he did so, he dipped his head politely at Maggie and smiled slightly,

"Thank you," he said, with more grace in his voice than one would guess he had, "Sorry about the chunk I took out of you last night," Angel said, waving a hand at the bandage that swathed the lioness' right shoulder, "But y'know…you i were/i trying to toss me into this goddamn cage; that tends to put me in a slightly unforgiving mood."

Maggie could only shrug; privately she could understand with the outlaw's point of view, having been thrown into a cage herself on several occasions. On the other hand…the outlaw really did ideserve/i to be locked up.

In any case, Angel took the plastic cup and dumped a goodly portion of the yellow powder into it before filling it up with water from the sink. Using a talon to mix the contents together, he turned back to the two mutates.

"Next question is…" he paused to drain the contents of the glass in one large gulp, "Can I have a toothbrush?"

iSomewhere in Western Yugoslavia/i

Along a lonely, empty, highway a BMP-2 infantry fighting vehicle grinds along at full speed; the vehicles commander is standing up in the turret; behind him a trio of men dressed in old Soviet-pattern camouflage uniforms and wearing blue berets are perched on the passenger compartment, their sizable arsenal of weapons pointed outward and ready to react to any threat.

One of the troopers shifted the PK light machine gun he carried on his lap and slapped the commander on the back to get his attention,

"iDai? What is it Kulokov?"

"How much farther to Vostok-2's position comrade colonel?" Kulokv asked,

Sergey Arachenko turned to the mercenary sergeant and shouted,

"A few more kilometers, Kulokov. Get ready."

"i Da Tovarisch Pulkovnik/i."

The sergeant barked orders and the other mercenaries on the back of the IFV, who made a quick check of their weapons and gear before nodding their readiness to Kulokov.

The sergeant slapped his commander on the back again, and gave a thumbs up when the mercenary leader turned around.

A few minutes later, the BMP ground to a halt, and the three soldiers and their commander leapt off of it and dashed forward along the sides of the road.

Sergey took a small radio off of his equipment harness and hit the transmit button,

"iKulak/i-One to iVoshkod/i-Two, coming up the road to your position at this time."

A few moments later, a reply of "Copied" crackled over the small civilian model radio.

Sergey waved his small team forward and they silently moved the final few meters to a BRDM armored car that had been camouflaged deep in the forest that lined both sides of the crude highway.

"Friendly's coming in." Sergey whispered out loud; his Siberian accented Russian a better recognition than any password or countersign,

"Colonel," a voice drifted up from behind the armored car "Forward element is just up at the edge of the trees."

Sergey nodded, and then motioned for his small squad to wait with the armored car before slinking forward towards the edge of the forest.

"Anyatoliy?" Sergey asked just before he broke out of the trees,

A large clump of dead brush a few feet forward of Sergey suddenly seemed to sprout a hand that motioned for the mercenary officer to come forward. Sergey got done on his belly and crawled over to the forward observation post. It turned out to be a small hole that had been scrapped out and then covered with dead brush and a few living plants, then reinforced with fallen timber. There were two soldiers inside, both wearing multicolored fatigues and camouflage face paint.

"Comrade Colonel." one greeted, nodding, while the other kept staring out through the scope of a Dragunov snipers rifle. Sergey looked out of the small dug out and across the dozen or so kilometers of clear ground between it and the mountain range, forest, and the narrow pass that he and his mercenaries were going to have to traverse to get at the Bosnian and Croatian towns and villages on the other side.

"Anything to report?"

"iNyet/i, we've seen a few flashes of movement in the woods, but it looks to be only deer or some other animal. One odd thing, though; we haven't seen any road traffic either coming or going along the highway."

Sergey's eyes narrowed,

"It makes some degree of sense, I think. The Fat Fucks people all seemed to be scared shitless of these mountains; they think they're haunted or some nonsense such as that. That would keep the Serbs away."

"And everyone else in this god-forsaken country?"

"Is either supposedly hiding in there…" Sergey began;

"Or dead." the sniper coldly finished Sergey's sentence for him.

"iDa/i." Sergey nodded, "The refugee camps across the border were too far away, I'd guess. But that means that if anyone iis/i holed up in those mountains, or the woods over there…" Sergey pointed to the foreboding looking forest that lined the pass and the lower slopes of the mountains, "They'll have nowhere else to run too when we head in."

The sniper grunted in agreement while the observer shook his head,

"They might keep quiet and let us through, if there really is someone there."

"Right, Vanya. I'm sure they'll just let us and the Serb monkeys through unharmed, so we can burn down their cousins and nephews villages on the other side of the mountain." the sniper scornfully spoke, his eyes never leaving the scope.

"Blow it out your asshole, Anyatoliy." the observer countered,

"Both of you shut up." Sergey hissed, and the two squabbling mercenaries promptly fell silent, "Keep eyes on that pass. I'm going back to see where the Fat Fuck and his morons are."

Sergey slipped out of the dug out and then crawled back to the BRDM and his squad before he unclipped the same small civilian radio from off of his ammunition vest and brought it to his lips;

"iKulak/i-One, this is iKulak/i Actual; radio back to Kilajader and get his position, will you?"

"Copy that, Actual."

Kulak slid over to his commanders position and asked,

"Did Anyatoliy and Vanya spot anything?" the burly sergeant asked,

Sergey shook his head,

"No, but that doesn't mean something isn't there. We need to wait till the rest of the unit gets up here, just in case."

Kulokov nodded, than hesitated a bit before saying,  
"As much as you'd like to go charging in there by yourself and get shot full of holes, right?"

Sergey's eyes widened,

"What…"

"We were in the same battalion in Afghanistan, colonel. I know what you and your platoon had to do, and I know you're the last one left. I also know that you're not out here in this tribalistic backwater for the money. You're no combat junkie either, sir. That leaves us with one option, does it not?"

Sergey glowered at his machine gun toting comrade, than nodded,

"I suppose it does."

Kulokov set a hand on his commander's shoulder,

"It doesn't do to live in the past, Comrade Colonel. There's nothing we can do to change it."

With that, the big sergeant nodded and slipped away, promptly disappearing into the thick underbrush from where he had come.

Sergey gazed after him, and then shook his head. The problem with forgetting the past was that every time he closed his eyes, he could still here the screams of every man, woman and child he'd killed that day in the Afghan mountains.

Sergey was still sitting next to the camouflaged armored car three hours later; he'd barely even noticed the spreading darkness that had covered the thin forest. He was brought back to reality by the radio clipped to his ammunition vest, which crackled to life as a voice came out of its small speaker,

"iKulak-1/i to iKulak/i Actual."

Sergey quickly unhooked the radio and brought it to his lips,

"iKulak/i actual here."

"Kilajader and his paramilitaries are two kilometers away; they should arrive momentarily."

"Copy."

i Back on Manhattan Island /i

Three gargoyles darted through the sky, high in the air above Fifth Avenue, oblivious to their surroundings as they made their way back to the massive sky scarper with its medieval adornment that they called home.

The three were eagerly recounting an earlier encounter they'd had that night,

"Did you see the look at the stupid junkies face?" Brooklyn laughed, both at the memory and the joy of using a word unique to this new modern world.

Lexington chortled,

"He had to be high, man. Seriously, who tries to take on three gargoyles with a broken bottle?"

Brooklyn and Lexington laughed harder, but the third gargoyle cut in,

"It seemed to work pretty well on that old man he was slicing up before we got there." Broadway pointed out, quickly cutting off the fun of the other two, "And let's hope that guy can get some help when the cops pick him up, otherwise we'll see him again."

The other two gargoyles glowered at their suddenly serious minded comrade,

"It's out of our hands after we break up the crime, Broadway." Lexington said,

"And I doubt that low life will be getting out of jail anytime soon."

The three glided on in a sudden moody silence, and Broadway gathered speed before drifting up close too his two friends,

"Look I'm sorry about that…"

Lexington and Brooklyn turned too look at Broadway.

"But it's just…you guys are confusing me."

Brooklyn raised a brow ridge,

"Do what now?"

Broadway heaved a sigh,

"Look, a few weeks ago you two were either pretty depressed, or pissed off, or…whatever. I thought you guys were resentful over…y'know…me and Angela…but now you both seem fine, almost ecstatic, all the time. What happened?"

"Oh, I see… your pissed because we're not resentful you got the girl…you're an egotistic bastard, aren't you?" Lexington growled.

"Wait, no! That's not what I meant…" Broadway trailed off as his two friends burst out in laughter, than glanced at each other; Brooklyn nodded to Lex, who turned back to Broadway,

"Look, we couldn't be happier for you and Angela, alright? Seriously, congrats man."

Broadway smiled,  
"Well I'm glad you guys aren't mad anymore, but what's going on, really?"

Brooklyn laughed again,

"Lets just say, we've moved on. In fact lets say that we found…" before Brooklyn had a chance to tell Broadway what it was he and their web winged brother had found, the air between the three gargoyles was rent by a massive explosion which sent them hurtling in all directions, and then sent them falling towards the ground below.

They were almost even with the rooftops that lined the street s below before the startled gargoyles managed to catch more air currents under their wings and get themselves under control and even out their descent.  
"Quarrymen!" Lex shouted as he looked up and spotted a pair of air skimmers bearing down from above.

Both skimmers opened up at seemingly the same time, pouring down a rain of crackling blue energy bolts,

"Watch out!" Brooklyn yelled as one of the bolts narrowly missed him, its charged passage leaving his hair standing on end, but the call came too late, as one of the bolts connected solidly with Lexington. The small web winged gargoyles eyes went wide, than closed, as his limp body suddenly fell towards the streets below.

Brooklyn and Broadway cried out in anger and fear as they watched their friend plummet back to earth, and they made a nearly identical dive to reach him before he connected with solid earth. Above them, the two skimmers let loose with a new weapons; charged electrical nets. Broadway shouted a warning to Brooklyn, and they both managed to dodge these bizarre missiles with relative ease. The skimmers promptly let loose with another barrage of electric bolt fire; all of it just barely missing the two gargoyles as they rushed to grab their comrade. Broadway got their first, but his hasty grab for Lexington was to fast, and he ended up joining his smaller brother on his trip to the ground for a few seconds before he regained some measure of control; Brooklyn quickly caught up with the pair, and with his help Broadway managed to slow his and Lexington's fall.

But by then, the asphalt below was barely ten feet away, and the trio was about to be forced to land on the busiest street in Manhattan.

iWestern Yugoslavia/i

Sergey and his small troop of ex-Soviet paratroopers and Special Forces were at their normal post at the head of the long column of Serbian paramilitary vehicles.

The Russian expatriates did their best to keep their eyes on their surroundings as the convoy ground forward towards the narrow mountain pass, but they kept stealing glances behind them, at a pair of open topped cargo trucks their employers had picked up, and filled, at some point between the last villages they'd raided and when they'd caught up with the mercenaries.

Sergey was turning his head back to the mountain pass when his eyes caught Kulokov's, who was doing the same thing.

The big sergeant shook his head and muttered before saying out loud;

"I was not sure I could feel worse about this business, colonel."

Sergey could quickly looked away, before Kulokov could get a read on his feelings.

Sergey, in all honesty, felt worse than his sergeant about the new addition to the convoy;

The Serb militia had rounded up all the women and girls from the last two villages, and had thrown them into the two trucks.

Sergey had been slightly confused when the two trucks had shown up with his troops paymasters, but that fat bastard Kilajader had gleefully explained that they were planning to sell them to "western buyers" in Amsterdam and Italy, who were in need of "fresh stock".

The fat bastard had laughed at Sergey's expression, and then, his voice loud enough so all the mercenaries could hear, had explained that this was how they'd been paying their wages from the start.

All of which had a wonderful effect in the normally ruthless mercenaries; despite their new calling, they regarded themselves as professional soldiers, and found the idea of being funded by slavery somewhat…distasteful.

None of that mattered in the end, of course, as the convoy moved into the foreboding mouth of the dark mountain pass.

"iVoshkod/i-two, iKulak/i-1 ," Sergey spoke into his throat mic,

"Move ahead of the column about a hundred meters and send me status reports every ten minutes."

"Copy that, iKulak/i-1."

The BRDM scout car at the head of the column accelerated and pulled away from the column; soon, it disappeared from view around a bend.

"All units switch to infra-red and night vision." Sergey continued.

He ignored the chorus of acknowledgements from his troops and reached down in the turret of his BMP for his pair of night vision goggles; like the Japanese made walkie-talkie radio on his ammo vest, the goggles came from America; a gift from a concerned Serb immigrant living in the United States, who nonetheless thought he needed to help out his mother country in her time of trouble.

Sergey looked out upon the landscape through a fuzzy green haze as the goggles powered on and illuminated the night. The eerie green glow did nothing to make the scenery less foreboding, Sergey noted, as he shifted the assault rifle in his lap and surveyed the deep forest that lined both sides of the road, broken occasionally by a steep cliff or rock face.

A few minutes later, the headphones on the mercenary leaders ears crackled with iVoshkod/i-2's first situation report .  
"iKulak/i-1, we are eight kilometers into the pass; no contact so far."

"Copy that, iVoskod/i, keep moving."

"Copy."

Sergey turned to look behind him at the strung out convoy of military and civilian vehicles behind him, and nodded in satisfaction when he saw that the camouflage painted armored vehicles of his troop of mercenaries maintained a steady speed and a good distance between each vehicle. But sandwiched between the groups of disciplined Russian soldiers was a motley group of vehicles, clumped together in many places, of Serbian paramilitaries in vehicles ranging from Soviet made GAZ command cars to civilian cars and Mercedes trucks painted in bright blues and reds.

Sergey sighed in frustration; because all sides in the conflict were in the habit of using civilian vehicles, the Americans and their NATO allies had taken to attacking any vehicle on the road, including civilian trucks, cars and busses.

It was nasty little war he had found to die in, that was certain.

The convoy moved on in silence as they rolled ever deeper into the dark mountain pass.

Sergey lifted his night vision goggles off for a moment, and found that the world around him was pitch black; he could barely see his hand in front of his face.

i'This is unnatural'i/ Sergey thought,i 'There was a half moon out just last night, how could…'/i Sergey look upward, and found that the sky was completely dark; he couldn't spot a cloud a star, or any other light.

"iBozhemoi/i." he whispered.

And that's when the guttural, hellish roars exploded out of the depths of the forest, and the Serbs in the middle of the convoy began to scream.

i New York/i


End file.
